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The Author — Martha L. Hoffman 



POEMS 



BY 

MARTHA L. HOFFMAN 



Cfje Wi^taktv & 3Rap Co. 

dan Jfrantisfto 
1907 



TS H3^ 



Copyright by 

Nellie F. Sanford 
1907 



ssJrfARY of CONGRESS'I 
I wo Conies Received 
OCT 8« «30^ 
j CopyneJtt Entry 
I 0<:/ 2 8 i'?''7 

'class A XXc, N 
j COPY d. 



PREFACE 

The Author of these poems, Martha Lavinia Hoffman, was 
born in Jackson Valley, Amador County, California, July 21, 
1865. 

When three years of age her parents moved to Ukiah, 
California, where her girlhood and young womanhood were 
spent, and where she received inspiration from the beauties of 
nature in that, and adjacent valleys, for many of her poems. 

From childhood she evinced an unusual love for the true 
and the beautiful. 

When fourteen years of age she was stricken with a 
severe attack of inflammatory rheumatism which left her in 
frail health and terminated in her death, from consumption, 
at the age of thirty-five ; but her spirit rose above the suffer- 
ings of the frail body and made her the joy and the life of the 
family. 

To her mother she was devoted and the two were the 
closest companions and intimate friends. 

One thought seemed at times to burden her mind and 
cast a shadow over her otherwise sunny nature and that was, 
that she was hindered by frail health from doing the good 
that her heart prompted her to. 

A short time before her death she said to her mother and 
sisters : 'T want my poems collected and printed, they may 
do some good, and you know it is the only way I have of 
doing good in the world." 

And so we dedicate this little volume to those who read, 
hoping that some thought in it may touch the heart and lift 
it to a nearness with the Divine, the source of all that is true 
and beautiful and good, and that our darling sister who fell 
asleep so peacefully and with such sweet content may some 
day gather an abundant harvest of precious sheaves to lay 
at the feet of the Saviour she loved. 

A SISTER. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

The Spirit of Poesy i 

The Depths 4 

Trust 6 

The Requiem of the Dove 10 

Rain on the Mown Grass 14 

Fame 7 

Song of the Cricket 13 

Unwritten History 17 

Angelus 20 

Easter Anthem . 22 

Rock of Ages 24 

Accepted and Rejected 26 

Experimentum Crusis 16 

Leonard Lake 27 

California 28 

A Prayer 32 

To the Wild Canaries 34 

Too Late 31 

The Cavern by the Sea 36 

Easter Hymn 42 

A Bosom Friend 44 

Under the Violets Blue 41 

Through the Golden Gate 46 

The Creation 49 

Lily of the Nile 52 

Pacific Grove 54 

Going Down Hill 56 

The True Dignity of Labor 58 

The Wild Deer 60 

When Sankey Sang . 62 

Baby May • ... 63 

Josephine 64 

Bethlehem (>7 

In the Redwoods 68 



[V 



Unrequited Love 7^ 

Boat Riding on Blue Lakes 75 

The Song of Hope 7^ 

Connecting Links 7^ 

Beautiful Thoughts 79 

Under the Alders . 8o 

The Coyote 84 

Earth and Sky 86 

The Bugle and the Battle 88 

The Easter Day 90 

Ambition's Climax 92 

True Nobility 98 

Lines to a Maiden 100 

Language of the Stars 102 

Alone 104 

On the Evening Train 108 

The Thief 112 

Think for Yourself 83 

Christmas Hymn 114 

Consider the Lilies 116 

Sadness and Mirth 118 

The Tomb of Man 120 

lone Valley 122 

Love's Counterfeits 11 1 

The Legend of Lover's Leap 126 

The Chambers of Imagery 128 

California Poppies 130 

The Broken Wing 131 

Banjo Jim 132 

Resurrection 134 

From My Window 137 

The Lady of the Wreck 138 

Nature 142 

Dream of the Summer Land 143 

The Bird's Song 149 

The Years 145 



Song of the Easter Lilies 148 

Two Christmas Pictures . 150 

The Hermit 152 

Bird Songs I54 

A Divine Codicil 156 

The Grandmas . . . . • 158 

Looking Beyond 160 

The Meadow Lark 173 

Old Modoc 163 

To the Birds 166 

Our Better Selves i53 

The Redeemer . . . 170 

The Grave of the Suicide I74 

Tonight 177 

Lament of the Fallen Oak 178 

The Butterfly 182 

Within the Vale 183 

The Patriot Abroad 184 

Baby Bessie 185 

There Is a God 186 

The Procession 188 

We Shall Sleep but W^e Shall Waken .... 194 

Death 191 

Earth's Power and Weakness 196 

A Song of Praise 200 

Poison Ivy 199 

The Pacific 205 

The Deep of Despair and the Haven of Happiness . 202 

The Spirit Realm 206 

Flor del Espiritu Santo 213 

Our Walk 244 

Home, Sweet Home 208 

Music 210 

Ethiopia 214 

Eden 216 

Will There Be no Flowers in Heaven? .... 218 



[ vii 



The Gallery of the Great Artist 222 

The Harvest 224 

The Three Comforters 226 

The Orchard Call 228 

Song: Because I Love Her So 230 

Lines to the Ocean 232 

The Blind Musician 234 

Ecclesiastes 236 

The Voice of the Clock 238 

Sabbath Bells 221 

The Cry of the Soul 243 

The Billow's Answer 252 

My Duty 246 

The Heavenly Jerusalem 225 

Gather the Wild Flowers 240 

Empty Nests 242 

The Burning Building 250 

The Maiden's Lament to Her False Lover . . . 245 

Burden Bearing 248 

City and Country 249 

How Perrim Treated the Girls 254 

The Statue 257 

The White Crane 260 

The Multitude 263 

Life's Uncertainty 277 

Our God 251 

Lines on Night 262 

Harmony 273 

The Grave 272 

Life's Great Question 264 

The Beautiful Past 268 

Swan River Daisies 270 

Man by Wisdom Cannot Find Out God .... 274 

The Sower's Song 278 

My Poem 280 

October Musings 282 



[ viii 



The Scepter the Poppy Yields 281 

The Seaside Cemetery 284 

The Roses 289 

To the Epworth League 291 

Spring 253 

Cities in the Sand 286 

The Demon of Despair and the Angel of Hope . . 288 

To the Lady at the Window 292 

At Eventide It Shall Be Light 299 

A Prisoner 294 

Our Nation's Slavery 296 

The Mind's Treasure-house 301 

The Fields 300 

The Woman to Her False Lover 302 

Patience 305 

The Power of Kindness 304 

Looking Beyond 306 

Revenge 309 

The Little Toiler 314 

Unsaid 313 

The Earthquake 310 

The New Song 312 

Wounded 315 

A Picture 316 

The Joy of Living 317 

Help Each Other 318 

Coals 323 

Slavery 320 

Posthumous 324 

The Oak and the Vine 328 

The River of Blessing 335 

The Bridal Bell 330 

One Little Glimpse of Heaven 332 

Baby Brother 334 

A Summer Friendship 336 

Love's Petition 337 



[ix 



Suppose 347 

The Years of Our Lives 350 

From the City of the Living to the City of the Dead . 338 

The Answer 340 

Song 342 

Development 347 

Song of the Wind 344 

The Rescuer's Request 348 

Existence 35 1 

Alice 248 

Twilight Thoughts 352 

California's Woodlands 354 

Defects 358 

The Unattained 356 

U. S. Grant 359 

Remember Thy Creator 361 

Remembrance 362 

To My Pansies 364 

The Desert Camel 363 

Paths 366 

Sorrows 368 

The Departed Friend 370 

The Red Linnet 370 

The Forgotten Grave 371 

Character 374 

My Sanctum 375 

To the Possessor of an Unbridled Tongue .... 380 

Workers 376 

The Rainless Summer 378 

A Dream Picture 381 

Thou Shalt Forget Thy Misery 382 

The Opening of the Roses 383 

The Longing of the Soul 384 

The Haven of Rest 386 

Flowers and Weeds 390 

Do They Think of Me at Home? 388 



[X 



Ambition 



391 



Coming Back 392 

Pity Her Not 393 

Life's Aim 397 

The Heavenly Messenger 394 

My Father Knows the Way 402 

Autumn Leaves 398 

Rest 400 

A Dream Picture 403 

The Love of God 408 

O Can I Be Happy in Heaven? 404 

Little Things 409 

Our Lilies 406 

Not as a King 410 

The Waters of Marah 412 

The Wanderer 413 

A Wish 419 

The Answered Prayer 414 

The Invalid to the Caged Bird 416 

The Song of Peace 417 

The Day of Justice 420 

Lines Written on Receiving Violets in a Letter . . 425 

An Invocation 422 

Without 426 

Longing 433 

The Christian Life 428 

The Voice from the River 430 

Thoughts 432 

Life's Fruition 434 

Song — You Will Forget But Remember Again . . 439 

The Granite Boulder of the Beach .... . 436 

Broken Hearts 441 

In All Their Affliction He Was Afflicted .... 448 

The Reign of the Roses 440 

Buried 442 

We Cannot Know Each Other 444 



[xi] 



The Two Roads 446 

The Revealing 447 

Summer Clouds 45° 

Who Is He? 452 

Song of Rejoicing 449 

Come 460 

Aspirations 454 

The Waves and the Rocks 456 

The False and the True ' • . • 462 

They Weep No More 45^ 

Laurel Dell 457 

Retribution 458 

H 453 

Moonlight Boat Song 464 

Lost Hope 461 

The Paths of Peace 463 

She Is Not Gone 465 

The Other Side 424 

The Way, the Truth, and the Life 467 

A Petition 468 

Every Heart Knowest Its Bitterness 469 

Be True 475 

Life's Possibilities 470 

True Worth 474 

None Shall Be Lost Whom God Can Save .... 472 

Areata 473 

Manzanita Blooms 474 

Success and Failure 476 

My Choice 479 

Behold He Prayeth 478 

O Dweller in the Dreamy Past ! 480 

The Heavenly Hope 481 

God's Gift to Man 481 

Rest 482 

To Him that Overcometh 483 

To the Trees 485 



[xii] 



A Summer Morning 484 

Worth While 485 

Be Patient, My Spirit 486 

The Answered Petition 487 

Rosebuds 488 

A Voice from Heaven 489 

Our Afflictions 492 

The Climbers 491 

A Life Work 492 

Marguerites . . . , • 490 

The End of Living 494 

He Giveth His Beloved Sleep 493 

Pansy Faces 496 

No Hope 497 

Lost 501 

Little Things of Earth 500 

Abutilon Bells 498 

Earth's Sorrows 501 

Mistaken Values 403 

Had I but Wings Like Thine 504 

The Blue Daisies of the Crag 402 

What Shall It Profit Me? 505 

Out of Darkness 510 

The Veiled Land 506 

Alder Creek 506 

My Prayer 509 

Rosebuds 507 

A Farewell 429 

Berries 508 

The Heavenly Mansions 511 

Summer 511 

One and Another 512 

Estella 514 

Be Sure Your Sin Will Find You Out .... 256 

My Roses 267 

Heartache 269 



[ xiii 



Hollyhocks 279 

The Wrecked Life 285 

Purity 287 

Subtle Influence 295 

Peace on Earth 298 

My Garden 331 

The Frost 341 

Song 290 

Peace, Troubled Soul — Song 343 

Great Forces 357 

Stars 367 

To the Flowers 369 

Stones and Jewels of Fame 379 

Redemption Song 383 

Hope's Choral 385 

Lines 391 

All Is Well 411 

Hope in God 415 

Lines 418 

Fragment 421 

The Other Side 466 

A Retrospect 486 

A Farewell 513 

A Song of Joy 513 

Easter Lilies 525 

Sometime in Heaven 526 

A Question 527 

The Bloomed Bud . . .528 

Where True Wisdom Is Gained 529 

Cherry Time 530 

Forget Not God 531 



POEMS 



THE SPIRIT OF POESY 

A viewless Spirit walks this changing earth 
All unattended in her artless grace, 
Phantoms of sadness blent with gleams of mirth 
Play o'er the beauty of her child-like face. 

She clasps a lyre in unfeigned ecstasy 
And blends its music with her gentle voice, 
Weird fancies steeped in subtile phantasy 
Through its wild chords lament but to rejoice. 

Not only to the lofty does she come, 
To Nature not to Art her song belongs. 
Oft is her music to the monarch dumb 
While Nature's children revel in her songs. 

She makes the forest trees speak words sublime, 
She bids the flowers break forth in songs of praise. 
Commands the stars a voiceless language shine. 
Teaches the brooks to sing through stony ways. 

In her is centered all that earth may boast. 
That beauty, imagery and time have wrought, 
The blooming vale or rugged clifif-bound coast 
Are powerless if her wand has touched them not. 

Her footsteps gild the sands upon the beach, 
Her smiles reflect the heaven's supernal blue, 
There is no height her magic cannot reach 
And call forth gleams of beauty strange and new. 

She prisons all the sunset's richest dyes 
And pours them out to Nature's humblest child. 
Age and disease her wondrous lyre defies 
To hush its notes of rapture quaint and wild. 



[I] 



She softens sorrow with a plaintive grace, 
Envelopes death in twilight's mystic spell, 
Weird lights and shades through all her working chase 
And glory lingers where she loves to dwell. 

Deep in the ocean's fathomless abyss 
She delves for pearls and visits briny caves, 
Paints the bright sea-shells, enters to possess 
The empire where the coral garden waves ; 

Gathers rare blooms unknown to sunny climes 
And mosses in perpetual dampness sown, 
Bears them aloft to Thought's immortal shrines 
And claims the storms' dominion for her own. 

Myriads hear the music of her voice 
But few can grasp her deathless melody, 
Many can see her beauty and rejoice 
But few have power for other eyes to see. 

Thousands can feel her presence and the spell 
She sheds throughout the precincts of the heart, 
But few her subtile influence can tell 
And none can teach her teachings but in part; 

For her sublimest songs no language find 
That eloquence can conquer and control, 
She writes them on the tablets of the mind, 
They find an echo only in the soul ; 

But not alone for gladness has she songs. 
She loves the storm and mighty ocean surge, 
Varied emotion to her lyre belongs. 
Her happiest song is followed by the dirge. 



[2] 



Thus does she come with songs of grief and mirth, 
With life's dark scroll in majesty unrolled, 
She breathes upon the troubled seas of earth 
Lo, they gush forth in streams of liquid gold. 

Come Poesy, thou sea-nymph quaint and wild, 
Thou seraph destined 'midst the stars to sing. 
Thou fairy, Nature's own untutored child. 
Come when the bloom of life lie's withering. 

Touch the dim eyes to Nature's glory blind, 
Kindle the smoldering embers of the heart, 
Waken the slumbering grandeur of the mind 
And make the desert own thy magic art. 



[3] 



THE DEPTHS 

Sublime and wonderful art thou, O deep, 

Illustrious ocean, vast unmeasured waste ! 

Lost in thy contemplation, I do seem 

Even as a grain of sand upon thy beach, 

That shouldst thou reach thy giant arms to grasp 

Would melt away in thy dissolving foam, 

Nor yet be missed among the myriads left ; 

Yet in thy calms and tempests, I can read 

The moods and passions of the human soul ; 

Nor are thy changing winds and tides more real 

That those that sweep and sway the depths of thought 

Calm is thy breast to-day, thou fitful main, 

And yet perchance before the eastern star 

Sheds o'er thy surface her supernal beams. 

High on yon crags thy maddened spray shall dash 

And the wild roar of elemental war 

Shall cause the dwellers on thy cliffs to quake 

And the brave mariner to grow sick at heart. 

Why is this murmuring, this wild unrest? 

This never-ending conflict with thyself, 

As if thou wouldst burst through thy massive gates 

And fling thy treasures through celestial space. 

Strew the pale Occident with coral sprays 

And the blue zenith with ten-thousand gems ; 

Or scatter pearls throughout the Orient flames ; 

Or yet go seething through yon crested heights 

And with a voice like Gabriel's trumpet, tell 

The pent-up secrets of thy hidden depths 

Unto the flaming beacon of the day? 

'Tis vain — with all thy vast gigantic power, 
Thou canst but cast a few frail treasures forth. 
Perchance a seaweed spray or tinted shell, 

[4] 



Dripping and glistening from thy briny surf, 

Cast out upon the sands, that wheresoe'er 

Fate or caprice may bear its fragile form, 

A whispered song from its pink lips is heard 

That seems to speak of caverns deep and lone 

Sunk in thy heaving bosom, restless sea, 

That eye hath never seen, nor yet a ray 

From the bright flickering lamps of Heaven has pierced. 

Thus do the surges of the spirit rise 

And dash against their narrow prison walls, 

Clap their rapt wings and long for liberty ; 

Or in a vague unrest beat to and fro, 

Forever striving to yield up the things 

That pent in their own beings will not rest 

Ah ! like the sea, they only render up 

Perchance a thought from out their hidden caves, 

That, like the sea-shell, murmurs of the depths 

That slept before undreamed of far below; 

Within the human soul lie depths as deep 

As ever slept within the ocean's breast. 

And heights that rise beyond the breaker's crest 

In the vain wish to pass their narrow bound. 

Lo, o'er the depths of ocean and of soul 

Breathes forth a voice that calms their wild unrest : 

"Peace, be thou still," "to me thou shalt yield up, 

The garnered fullness of thy hidden things; 

To me the deep shall pour her treasures out; 

To me the ocean shall her secrets tell ; 

At my command the sea shall burst her gates 

And the chained treasures of the depths come forth ;" 

So shall the soul break forth at last in song; 

So shall her pent-up longings be unloosed 

To sweep adown the aisles of endless time; 

So shall the depths therein in endless praise 

Pour out their garnered fullness unto God. 

[5] 



TRUST 

Fear not to tread the unknown way, my heart ; 
If God takes from thee any earthly part, 
He fills the measure up with better worth; 
As much of Heaven, as hath been lost of earth. 

Shun that mirage upon whose shifting brink 

No dying traveler ever stooped to drink, 

For no alluring pleasure turn aside 

From where the landmarks of your duty guide. 

Not unto bliss or misery are we born. 
To wealth and honor or to want and scorn, 
But to a world where each his work is given 
The reward of faithfulness, — one common Heaven. 

Our destiny in our own hands we sway 
Claim if we will or cast the prize away. 
By no degree of judgment unexplained 
Is Heaven lost, or Paradise regained. 

Fear not, my heart, though God hath taken all 
Thine earthly cup of happiness contains, 
When all of earth is lost beyond recall, 
Lo, all of Heaven remains. 



[6 



FAME 

Millions have gazed upon thy towering height, 

O envied Fame ! 
And millions fain woulQ on thy record write 

A fadeless name. 

But oh, how many of this mighty throng 

While years have flown, 
Have lived and died and left life's changing song. 

To fame unknown ! 

Ah ! many a fair ambition-gilded gem, 

So dearly prized. 
Has faded from Hope's golden diadem 

Unrealized. 

And are they lost — gone never to return 

Dead songs of vanished years — 
And nothing left but lessons hard to learn, 

Through bitter, blinding tears? 

Yes; many who might stand at Honor's side 

With laurels crowned. 
But struggle to fulfil through Time's slow tide. 

Life's common round. 

And some, who might have found Fame's golden throne 

A well-earned destiny. 
Leave not behind a monumental stone 

To tell their history; 

Too good to leave for other hands to do 

Their common daily task. 
Faithful to duty, to their Maker true; 

No higher lot they ask. 



[7] 



Forgotten? Oh, those many uiunarkod graves. 

Strewn over h\nd and sea! 
Naught but the desert winds and ocean waves 

Rehearse their memory. 

Rut oh ! in immortality arrayed 

In Heaven they dwell, 
Though years have vanished, since to earth they bade 

A long farewell. 

But not alone the poor and humble rest 

Where willows wave. 
The highest paths of power and fame, at last 

Lead to the grave. 

Ah ! hear the dirge that all mankind must learn : 

Place not on earth thy trust. 
For dust thou art. to dust shalt thou return. 

Dust unto dust. 

A queen lay on her death-bed. 'round her shone 

Beauty and luxur}-; 
But what to her was now her princely throne 

And mighty monarchy? 

Lost to the world would soon her presence be. 

And ghosts of vanished years. 
Thronged 'round her bed, laughed at her misery 

And mocked her tears. 

But memory saw another being there, 

Her crown of gold, 
The jewels sparkling on her waving hair 

Roused fears untold. 



[S] 



Again she saw the warrant .she had signed 

To seal another's fate, 
And sought for peace and mercy but to find 

Her search too late, 

And uttered ; knowing that 'twould soon be o'er, 

The last words she could say 
Before the proud tongue paused to speak no more, 

"A kingdom for a day !" 

A kingdom — all its wealth and princely dowers 

To gladly give. 
Just for a few more, weary, lingering hours 

In which to live. 

In which to make her peace with Heaven secure 

Before her tongue was dumb. 
In which to make her blackened record pure 

Ere death should come. 

How short is human Fame, how very soon 

Is passed Life's little day, 
Her wealth and beauty journey to the tomb ; 

Her glories fade away. 

How small is Fame — beyond her golden sands, 

Beyond the clouds, we see 
The shining bow of promise, spans 

Time and eternity. 



[9] 



THE REQUIEM OF THE DOVE 

Across the marshes' willowy fringe and seas of sunlight 

golden, 
Across the meadows purple-tinged with buds but half 
unfolden, 
Where helpless, yearning tendrils cling, 
And fancied fairies lightly swing. 
With all the gladsome springtime bloom that brooks no 
phantom thought of gloom. 
Is blent one song of sorrow. 

Who is the bard that dares to sing one note of aught but 

gladness? 
Who is the sprite that comes to ring one floral bell in sadness? 

When perched upon the mossy wall 

The meadow lark is prince of all, 
While joy ecstatic at his call resounds from mere to mountain. 

From orange groves and spicy isles gay minstrels are 

returning. 
While roses glow with sunny smiles, their blush to ashes 
burning. 
Stray ripples laugh through banks of fern. 
Grim rocks the gladsome message learn. 
The trees rejoice at Spring's return, and clap their hands for 
gladness. 

But over all this vernal glee 'midst Nature's reckless wooing. 
Intrudes like sorrow's prophecy a mournful, plaintive cooing; 

Somewhere a lonely songster sings 

Of scattered leaves and vanished springs. 
And all her pent-up anguish brings to mock the joy of Nature. 



[ID 








'Tall inariposa tulips si>i!lc, (Uiwitg the rccds and rushes' 



Wild thickets, dense with briers and weeds, are glad with 

sounds of pleasure, 
On grassy slopes the shy fawn feeds and gambols at his 
leisure; 
But one sad seeress from her hill 
Casts over all an icy chill. 
Sways the rapt listener at her will, and floods his soul with 
sadness. 

How canst thou come, thou mournful one, each breeze with 

sorrow loading? 
Why chant beneath a smiling sun one note of dark foreboding? 
When light is dancing in the dells, 
When music through the forest swells, 
And fairies ring their dewy bells, why chant that all are 
dying ? 

Tall mariposa tulips smile, among the reeds and rushes 
Wild tiger-lilies droop the while to hide their conscious 
blushes; 

But still from meadows far away 

Resounds that plaintive, mournful lay. 
Rebuking all the thoughtless play of Nature's artless children. 

Come in the Autumn, dauntless seer, when withered leaves are 

falling. 
Then is the time o'er Nature's bier to mind thy mournful 
calling; 
But not in Spring's supernal bloom 
Should Nature whisper of the tomb. 
Or prophets come with thoughts of gloom to blight her youth 
and beauty. 



[i: 



But still from out her lonely haunt is borne her sad replying: 
There is of youth no lasting font, there is no end but dying, 

The flowers that on the hillsides bloom 

And all that share their sweet perfume 
Shall mingle in one common tomb, for all but love is dying. 

Awake, rapt songsters of the grove, and sing of mirth and 

gladness. 
Drown with the melodies of love that solemn voice of sadness ; 
The winds her mournful omens waft, 
Then let them bear your notes aloft. 
Ye at the font of love have quaffed, and love shall live 
forever. 

Hark ! what a mingled burst of sound with every breath more 

thrilling, 
From ridge to ridge its echoes bound, the loftiest hope 
fulfilling. 
Wild rapture rends the balmy air. 
Soft carols find an echo there, 
The dove's low requiem has its share in Spring's complete 
outpouring. 

Join with the rest, thou gentle dove; there is no song of 

gladness 
But grows more tenderly complete when linked with notes of 
sadness. 
Then chant thy sweet, pathetic strain. 
Spring waits to hear thy soft refrain. 
Calling her to accept a throne 
Where gladness cannot reign alone, but joy and grief are 
blending. 



[12] 



SONG OF THE CRICKET 

When the Summer moonlight evening, weird, fantastic shades 

creating, 
Wrapped within her sombre mantle, treads the sunset's 

slanting bars, 
An unrivaled nightly singer in some unseen crevice waiting 
Times his slumbrous twilight sonnet to the twinkling of the 

stars. 

Hushed is now the plumaged songster, finished is his rich 

outpouring. 
While the honey-bee in silence seeks his darkened royal cell; 
The grasshopper no longer chirps from Nature's grassy 

flooring, 
But one tireless voice undaunted chants no Summer-night 

farewell. 

Not the royal moth's low whirring, or the breeze's whispered 

story 
Makes the stilly air seem teeming with the same repeated 

note ; 
Not the cry so weird and stirring of the night-owl, old and 

hoary, 
Is the serenade that nightly through my window loves to 

float. 

Floating through my open window in its wiry, humdrum 

meter, 
While the stars so slyly twinkling time his nightly serenade ; 
Many a song is much more thrilling — many another surely 

sweeter, 
But a truer perseverance has no other bard displayed. 



[13] 



RAIN ON THE MOWN GRASS 

(He shall come down like rain upon the mown grass: 
as showers that water the earth." — Ps. 72:6.) 

The sweet wild roses are nodding farewell 

To the beautiful month of May, 
While the wind-sprites waft on their sunlit-wings 

The aroma of new-mown hay. 

June, frolicking midst the orange groves 

And palms of the southern clime, 
Heard the voice of Summer among the pines 

And hastened to be in time. 

She came o'er the fields with a lightsome step, 

The berries with gladness flushed. 
While the roses greeting their virgin queen 

A deeper crimson blushed. 

The asphodel waves on the bare hill-slopes 

And down by the crystal spring. 
The birds from the alder's inviting shade 

Their June-time carols sing. 

The fishes are swimming lazily 

O'er the sands of the pebbly brook, 
While smiling June wreathes the wild grape-vine 

O'er many a cozy nook. 

But a change comes over her radiant face. 

One sigh the Summer hears. 
And the eyes of her fair young princess 

Are overflowing with tears. 



[14] 



Has she thought of the frosts of Autumn 

Making her leaves a tomb, 
Or does she mourn that her roses 

Are withering as they bloom? 

But look, there's a smile on her tearful face 

Unknown to foreboding fears; 
Happy June is but weeping for gladness, 

She waters her fields with her tears. 

Down on the new-mown grasses 
And stubble, the cool showers pour, 

The thirsty land drinks up the rain-drops 
And eagerly asks for more. 

Down on the drouth and barrenness 
As an answer to Nature's prayer. 

The rose may drink of the cooling flood 
And the weeds may have a share. 

So over Life's hard, dry stubble. 
From heavens of burnished brass. 

The mercy of God is descending 
As rain on the new-mown grass. 



[15] 



EXPERIMEXTUM CRUSIS 

("The fire shall try every man's work."— 1 Cor. 3:13.) 

Is it delusion when we break the seal 

That false opinion has set on the tombs 

Of mighty truths that sleep 'mid silent glooms, 

And catch one glimpse of the living real 
That rises to confront us? 

Thus I saw (but for a moment and in awed surprise) 
All the work of my life, and, furnace-tried, 
The dross consumed, and but the gold abide. 

And God's truth stood unveiled before my eyes — 
Then vanished, save to memory. 

Xo more I count my greater triumphs great, 

Xo more my little victories are small ; 

Since I hold still, amidst the loss of all 
The deathless glory of unselfish love and conquered hate- 

Brighter than trophies of unrighteous war, 

O, little kindnesses that were not set 

To sparkle in the crowns of emperors ! 
O, human victories that the God of wars 

Shall not forget ! 
These, these remain when every work is tried. 

Xo more I covet the reward of fame ; 

The Christ-like spirit in each given task 
Immortal gold — truth, faith, and love — 

I ask. 
These shall not waste in flame. 



[i6] 



UX WRITTEN HISTORY 

There are romances unwritten, there are poems never penned, 

There are battles all unseen and unrenowned, 

There are heroines and heroes, that no record shall attend, 

There are hidden histories never to be found, 

There are songs unsung and comedies and tragedies untold, 

There are words of grandest eloquence unsaid. 

There are gems of thought and feeling that no settings ever 

hold. 
Books unprinted, scenes unpainted, lives unread. 
On the printed page encircled by the rainbow pledge of Fame, 
In the paintings in the gallery of Art, 
In the sea of song that surges with full many a deathless 

name 
Are the things that thrill the World's great mind and heart. 
Not alone on walls and bookshelves left by progress far 

behind. 
Not alone on lips that once could sway with speech. 
Not alone on souls and intellects to light and beauty blind 
Are the World's great heart-throbs lost to thrill or teach. 
Like a bird-song on the silence of the forest's slumbrous aisles. 
Like a wild-flower in the weeds and grasses lost. 
Like a sunbeam that unnoticed for a moment gleams and 

smiles, 
Like a sparkling wavelet on a trackless coast, 
L'nheard, unseen, unnoticed in Nature's vast domain, 
Save by the great Creator's ceaseless care. 
Are waves of thought and feeling, of ecstasy and pain 
Lost with the mists of morning on the air; 
A song has surged unbidden through the cloister of a soul 
And the angels, yes, the angels must have heard, 



[17 



But no human audience spell-bound listened to its ocean roll. 

Pure and peaceful as the music of a bird 

A thought like some sweet wild-flower has blossomed in a 

heart 
And the angels watched its petals bright unfold 
But no mortal knew the beauty of its poetry and art, 
No tongue its hidden jewel ever told. 
A sunbeam has illumined perchance a darkened path — 
A sunbeam bright with love and light and hope, 
Or a shadow dark with sadness, or black with hate and wrath 
O'er some life's young morn of promise dared to grope ; 
'Tis but a common life-wave that beat upon the beach 
Till broken on the rocks and backward cast 
It left no spray of seaweed or tinted shell in reach. 
Forgotten 'midst the surges of the past. 

When the clang of war is over there are heroes lifted high 
Whose noble deeds a nation's tongue applaud 
But oh, the many thousands who have dared to do and die 
Unhonored, for their country and their God ! 
Where would the great commanders' illustrious laurels be, 
The generals' career of high renown 
But for the common soldiers unknown to history 
Like grain before the harvesters cut down? 
O'er the dust of battle-heroes there are monuments upraised 
Where the pennon of their triumph proudly waves 
But oh, the battle-heroes unhonored and unpraised 
At rest where grasses creep o'er unmarked graves ! 
And some as brave, unshrinking in Duty's arduous path 
As the grandest hero history can name — 
They faced the red artillery, the cannon's demon wrath 
And wrote in lines of blood another's fame. 
Oh, the heroes who have figured on the great world's changing 

stage ! 



[i8] 



Oh, the names that have been handed down the years ! 
Every Nation has its heroes, its famous, every age, 
Monarchs of its scrolls and parchment, swords and spears ; 
But like a few sands gathered from the ocean's glittering 

beach 
To the heroes and the heroines (are they) 
Who have fought life's battles bravely, who have lived to 

learn and teach 
But whose memoirs with their lives have passed away. 
Oh, the books that have been published, the histories compiled ! 
Oh, the words that have been written, sung and said ! 
They are nothing to the volumes o'er which few have wept or 

smiled 
Books unprinted, scenes unpainted, lives unread ! 



[19] 



ANGELUS 

Angels are singing, angels of light! 
Angels are winging their homeward flight, 
Lo, while we grope in the darkness to-day 
Guardian angels are leading the way ! 

Had we but visions like Jacob of old 
In dreams Elysian their forms to behold, 
Would we not see them seraphic and fair 
Treading the steeps of the sun-gilded air? 

Lightly descending, or rising above. 
Each one attending an errand of love; 
Each on a mission of mercy intent; 
Each on a wonderful pilgrimage sent. 

What are they noting, of hearts and of homes? 
What message floating to yonder bright domes? 
What through those gates will their entering bring? 
What are they bearing aloft to their King? 

Some may be telling of souls clad in white 
Patiently dwelling in sorrow and night. 
Some may be telling of evil and wrong 
Saddening the strains of their beautiful song. 

(Long years ago with his wonderful skill 

^lichael Angelo sought to fulfill 

All his high thoughts of the angels of light 
Thronging our pathway in daytime and night. 

In the cathedral where grandly he wrought, 
Toiling on, faithful and true to his thought. 
Angels look down from their stations to-day 
Though the great artist has long passed away. 



[ 20 



Angels encamping around and on high, 

Angels adorning the miniature sky, 
Legions of angels in fanciful air 
Lovingly guarding the worshipers there. 

Beautiful thought, may our life-work be crowned 
By troops of angels encamping around. 
Guardian hosts that their vigil shall keep 
Through the long years while from labor we sleep.) 

Oh, are we treading the beautiful way? 
Angels encamping around us to-day 
Gladly will bear up the message to-night 
Souls have been walking in garments of white. 

What though the road seemeth tedious and long, 
What though no word of their beautiful song 
Floats from the heavens our pathway to cheer, 
Angels are singing and angels are near. 

Far, far, above us their glad songs arise 
Oh, do they love us at home in the skies? 

Sometime our harps to their choir we will bring, 
Learn their glad anthem and sing as they sing. 



[21] 



EASTER ANTHEM 

(Arise, shine; for thy light is come and the glory of the 
Lord is risen upon thee. — Is. 60:1.) 

The Lord liveth, alleluia! 
Let the heavens and earth be glad; 

Lo, with her unnumbered voices 

All the universe rejoices 
In the excellence of glory He from the beginning had. 

The Lord liveth, alleluia! 
Let the heavens and earth be glad. 

The Lord liveth, alleluia! 
Let the stars together sing, 

With His glory on them falling, 

Higher yet His name extolling. 
In exceeding rapture telling of the universal King. 

The Lord liveth, alleluia! 
Let the stars together sing. 

The Lord liveth, alleluia ! 
Let the cedars clap their hands. 

With His sunshine o'er them streaming. 

With His glory 'round them gleaming; 
Lo, from out death's darkness risen, in eternal life He stands ! 

The Lord liveth, alleluia! 
Let the cedars clap their hands. 

The Lord liveth, alleluia! 
Open wide the starry gates 

Of the universe before Him ; 

All His wondrous works adore Him; 
Lo, he Cometh, cometh, cometh ; for His word His chariot 
waits. 

The Lord liveth, alleluia! 
Open wide the starry gates. 

[22] 



The Lord liveth, alleluia! 
Everlasting life is thine, 

Thine the glorious life He liveth, 

Thine the light He only giveth ; 
In His own exceeding brightness, oh, arise and shine! 

The Lord liveth, alleluia! 
Everlasting life is thine. 

The Lord liveth, alleluia! 
Angels rolled the stone away. 

Praises winged from harps and timbrels 

Hover o'er earth's living symbols. 
Lilies wake from dark earth's keeping; bright wings burst 
your bands to-day 

The Lord liveth, alleluia I 
Angels rolled the stone away. 



[23 



ROCK OF AGES 
1884 

"Rock of Ages," sang the maiden. 
Knew she not of fear or dread, 
Stifling air with hot smoke laden 
Beat about her youthful head. 

Red flames curled above, below her, 
Shrieks of terror rent the air, 
Angry flames leaped closer, closer 
'Till they almost touched her hair ; 

Still the song's sweet, peaceful music 
Rose above the wails of woe 
'Till the breezes bore it downward 
To the hurrying crowd below. 

"Hark!" they said, "Who is it singing?' 
And they strained their eyes to see 
While the sweet song went on ringing 
Forth its peaceful melody. 

Dimly through the smoke and blackness 
They beheld a woman's form 
Clinging to an upper casement 
Singing midst the fiery storm; 

Listened they in breathless silence 
Through that burning, seething sea. 
Came the words distinctly, clearly : 
"Rock of Ages cleft for me." 



[24 



"Raise the ladders, we will rescue 
Her who sings mid fire and smoke." 
"I will go, she shall not perish," 
Thus the strong, brave fireman spoke; 

Soon they reached the lonely figure 
Standing on death's frightful brink. 
The flames almost caught her garments 
But she did not pause or shrink; 

Back again to earth they brought her 
To the frightened, wondering throng 
And they asked in eager questions 
All about her wondrous song. 

"Could I fear," she said, "when o'er me 
Seeing, hearing, knowing all 
There was One who ever watchful 
Heeds the sparrows when they fall?" 

Wondrous faith, to stand there singing 
With what seemed her dying breath. 
Sweetest song when angels listened. 
Glorious victory over death ! 



[25] 



ACCEPTED AND REJECTED 

A modern bard of some renown 
Scribbled a few weak couplets down 
And sent them to his printer, 
Then fell asleep to wait the fee 
That purchased gaiety and ease 
For all the coming winter. 

The printer read the name thereto, 
"Not time to look the poem through 
What use to question further?" 
No doubt a treasure he possessed. 
The sum is sent with the request 
Ere long for such another. 

An humble, unknown pen inscribed 
A poem, yet by gold unbribed, 
Inwrought with Truth's pure spirit. 
Rich with the costly gems of thought 
And all with glistening beauty fraught 
Of real and lasting merit. 

The printer giving half askance 
The signature a passing glance 
Consigned it to the stubble, 
Ignored the simple terms proposed 
But kept the return stamp enclosed 
To pa}-^ him for his trouble. 



[26 



LEONARD LAKE 

Up where the tall Coast mountain peaks 

Smile neath the azure skies, 
Where the voice of nature's goddess speaks 
And the startled deer through the forest leaps, 

A calm little lakelet lies. 

On its green banks the redwood towers 

And drops its bursting cones. 
Sweet bird-songs while away the hours 
And the south wind rustles through the flowers, 

Or in the tree-top moans. 

To the oak-tree the wild-grape vine 

In emerald splendor clings. 
From the deep shade, pink star-flowers shine, 
And the graceful bell of the columbine 

In the gentle zephyr swings. 

I remember the slopes where the tulips blow. 

And the cool refreshing spring; 
The banks where the beautiful green ferns grow 
And the waters dark and deep below, 

And the songs the wild birds sing. 

In vain do I sing of the exquisite grace 

Of mountain and lake and tree; 
Should an artist's skillful pencil trace 
The varied outlines of rustic grace, 

'Twould at best but a shadow be. 

Fain would I picture each perfect part. 
With the sound of the dashing oar. 

Though deeply engraven on mind and heart 

I cannot to other minds impart 
The charms that for me they wore. 

[27] 



CALIFORNIA 

A land with peace and plenty crowned, 

Where luxury and wealth abound ; 

A land where Freedom's goddess reigns 

Unfettered by Oppression's chains. 

A land where every clime is found, 

Where different races till the ground. 

Here tropic fruits and flowers grow 

And Summer's softest breezes blow. 

Here too, tall mountain-columns glow 

In regions of perpetual snow; 

While various climates lie between 

Hills clad in robes of living green. 

And vales with golden harvests blest, 

By sunbeams and soft winds caressed. 

The great Pacific's broad expanse 

Spreads out before the traveler's glance. 

And in her ceaseless song, he hears 

The memories of forgotten years ; 

Ere man beheld her peaceful shore 

Or listened to the breaker's roar. 

Yosemite lifts her domes and spires 

And tunes to Heaven her native lyres, 

Her cataracts in torrents fall, 

Her mountains form a mighty wall; 

And all their princely peaks combine 

To guard proud Grandeur's loftiest shrine. 

The mammoth trees, like giants stand. 

Stationed to guard their native land. 

Kings of the forest's leafy throne 

By countless angry tempests blown ; 

Resisting ruin and decay. 

They live, while nations pass away. 

The tall Sierras, towering high. 

Print the pale arches of the sky; 

[28] 



And like proud, princely monarchs, throw 

Their shadows in the lakes below; 

And o'er the flowery bowers of green, 

Where Calliope dwells unseen, 

The grandeur of their lofty domes 

Falls softly o'er the peaceful homes ; 

Where man can undisturbed abide 

Far from the gilded pomp of Pride. 

The birds, their flight through tree-tops wing 

And sing at eve their vesper hymn. 

And when the sunlight hails the morn, 

Chant through the woods their native song. 

The rivers, flowing from the hills. 

The flowers, low-bending o'er the rills, — 

All help to make the land more fair, 

And scatter beauty everywhere. 

Long years ago, our fathers came 

To seek a land, whose wide-spread fame 

Had echoed through the world abroad, 

And sounded o'er the eastern sod ; 

'Till hundreds with bright hopes, elate. 

Journeyed to find the golden State. 

O'er wastes of land, through trials untold, 

They came to dig the precious gold. 

At night they made their lonely bed 

Beside some winding, silvery thread. 

At morn the trackless plain they pressed 

And faced again the sunlit west. 

O'er mountain paths, their way they wound; 

'Till on fair California's ground. 

They stood beneath her stately pines 

And viewed at last her famous mines. 

Some chose no more abroad to roam 

And made the western State their home; 

Some, who had come for gain and gold. 

Went back to find their homes of old; 

But all unsatisfied were they 

[29] 



From such a golden realm to stay, 
So crossed the wilderness again 
To find the land of gold and grain. 
The dark-browed natives gazed in awe 
And with fierce, war-like anger saw 
Their loved and cherished hunting-ground 
Changed into farms and peopled towns; 
What wonder that in rage they rose 
For vengeance on their pale-faced foes? 
What wonder that each swarthy brave 
Strove his Elysian home to save? 
But all in vain, there soon shall be 
None left to tell their history ; 
And even now, earth can but trace 
A remnant of that mighty race. 

******** 

Fair California, land of gold ! 

My hopes for thee are yet untold. 

But ere I lay my pen aside 

These wishes I would here inscribe : 

That vice should haunt thy hills no more 

Nor crime infest Pacific's shore, 

But right and loyal truth increase, 

And all the votaries of peace 

Should enter at thy Golden Gate ; 

My childhood's home, my native State ! 



[30] 



TOO LATE 

In his arm-chair the old man sat, his head 
Rested so heavy on his wrinkled hand, 
One gray lock by the evening breezes fanned 
Moved on his forehead, thus the merry band 
Of revelers found him, spoke his name and said : 
"Awake to fortune, leave thy lonely hearth 
The world at last has recognized thy worth." 
He moved not, and they saw that he was dead. 

Dead and alone in poverty, yet calm 

Was his cold brow and on his lips a sweet triumphant look, 

The outward vestage of an inward prayer 

As one who suffered long, 

A sweetness like the sadness of a song; 

Angels had told him what, alas ! too late 

Men came to tell him, that his soul was great. 



[31] 



A PRAYER 

(And golden vials full of odors which were the 
prayers of saints. — Rev. 5:8.) 

Breathed in the soul's deep chamber 

When none but God, were near ; 

Wrung from a weight of anguish 

Or a burden of mute despair; 

But gathered up, by viewless hands, 
And wafted upward on pinions fleet, 
Welcomed by joyous angel bands, 
A golden vial of odors, sw-eet. 

Sung in the house of worship 

By a spirit, tuned to praise. 

Forgotten amid the tumult 

And bustle of later days ; 

But guarded through Time's dissolving flight 
By faithful watchers, who never sleep, 
Unsullied by earthly rust or blight, 
A golden vial of odors, sweet. 

Lisped by infant voices 

In the hush of the evening hour, 

Lost on the balmy breezes 

Like the scent of a fragile flower; 

But evermore shall the angels 

Their scattered perfume reap, 

For even a child's petition 

Is a vial of incense, sweet. 



[32] 



Uttered in broken accents 

By the trembling voice of age, 

Or inscribed in true devotion 

By the pen of an earnest sage; 

O, the saint's unheard, unuttered prayer 
In its garnered fullness complete, 
Shall perfume Heaven's unclouded air, 
A golden vial of odors, sweet. 

Wrung from the anguished bosom 
Of the stricken, dying, brave, 
Murmured in faltering accents 
O'er the cradle or the grave; 

Forevermore shall the angels 

Faith's last petition keep ; 

And love's true invocation 

Is a vial of odors, sweet. 

Vibrating the chords of gladness 
Like the praises of happy birds. 
Or swaying the chords of sadness 
In notes, too deep for words ; 

How many a priceless treasure 

Is flung on the silent air, 

When a golden vial full of odors 

Is the spirit's voiceless prayer! 



L33] 



TO THE WILD CANARIES 

I have watched you so oft when a child, blithe canaries, 
Beside the cool stream where you warbled and drank ; 
When you helped me to gather the luscious blackberries 
That trailed their long vines o'er the moss-covered bank. 

'Neath the tall alder's shade with their green and gold tassels 
Dropping on the swift current and gliding away, 
I have watched you and built such aerial castles 
They stayed not to fade with the close of the day. 

You swing to and fro on the rough Spanish thistle 
And gather its seed for your wee baby-broods, 
You mingle your songs with the mocking bird's whistle 
And on each quiet pause your blithe twitter intrudes. 

You bathe where the ripples play over the pebbles 
And dash the light spray o'er your beautiful wings, 
While the brook's cheerful music in clear little trebles 
Joins the oriole's song where he carols and swings. 

You belong to the woodland choir, and your sweet voices 

Add much to the charm of their anthems of praise ; 

In Spring when all nature awaking rejoices 

You chant with the rest Summer's sweet prophecies. 

You are friends to the lover of nature, your beauty, 
The gold of your breasts and the grace of your forms 
Are beautiful gems, linked with every-day duty 
And sunbeams to cheer after bleak cloudy storms. 



[34] 



I have climbed to the nests of your marvelous weaving 
And looked at the dainty eggs guarded within, 
I have watched your young birdlings their cozy homes leaving 
New homes in the world for themselves to begin. 

I have wondered if on your own native sea-islands 
You are happier, lovelier, brighter than here; 
You are charming enough in our own mossy woodland 
And the charms of your music cannot be more dear. 

When away from my home and the haunts of my childhood, 
Sweet memory paints you in lines of delight, 
So real, I seem in my own leafy wild-wood 
Where the song of the bird and the brooklet unite. 



[35] 



THE CAVERN BY THE SEA 

(An authentic tradition.) 

The tropical islands of Tonga 

In the Southern Pacific sea lie 

Like fragments of cool rainbow color 

Dropped down from the melting blue sky. 

They are gardens of clustering palm trees 
Of creepers and tall waving fronds, 
Flowers, colored by sunshine and sea-breeze, 
Fruits, painted by tropical dawns. 



Dwelt a chieftain, young, stalwart and brave, 
Who dived like a fish in the ocean 
And rose with the foam on the wave. 

One morning while swimming and diving 
He ventured so deep by the shore 
That he rose in a wonderful cavern 
Which had never been heard of before. 

A cavern that no one could enter 
But by diving deep down in the sea. 
And stalactiles hung from the center 
And sides of its arched canopy. 

No sunbeam illumined its arches. 
No moonbeam lay on its stone floor, 
Its pale pensive light was reflected 
From the depths of its watery door. 

Bright sea-shells and fragments of coral 
And seaweed in chaplet and spray 
Cast up by the waves' angry quarrel 
In ledges and crevices lay. 

[36] 



The chieftain, transfixed in his wonder, 
Gazed long with his dark eager eyes, 
Like a warrior rejoiced o'er his plunder 
He spoke to his wonderful prize. 

"Thou art mine, O my beautiful palace ! 
No other my secret shall know, 
My refuge from envy and malice, 
I tell not my friend or my foe ; 

For a secret revealed to a brother 
That hour is a secret no more. 
One wave whispers low to another 
And the surges speak loud on the shore." 

There was silence once more in the cavern 
Then a splashing of sea-foam and wave 
And the daring young chief of the Tonga 
Rose up from his submarine cave. 

Time passed and a ruler tyrannic 
Reigned over the peaceful domain, 
So cruel was he that a panic 
Spread over the isles in his reign. 

One chief planned a great insurrection 
And well were his secret plans laid 
When the news spread in every direction 
That the deeply laid scheme was betrayed. 

And he who had planned insurrection - 
And all of his family with him 
Were sentenced to speedy destruction 
By the dreadful, tyrannical king. 

This chief had a beautiful daughter 
Betrothed to a chief of high rank, 

[37] 



Like a great stone cast into the water 
At the dread news her happy heart sank. 

The youth who discovered the cavern 
Had long loved the damsel in vain, 
So he brought her the news of her danger 
Which inspired him with hope once again. 

He begged her to trust him to save her, 
Though his terrible peril he knew 
Naught but hope of their safety he gave her 
As they fled in their little canoe. 

On the way he described the lone cavern, 

The place of their hasty retreat, 

'Till he paused where the rocks towered above them 

And told her it lay at her feet. 

With warcries the island resounded 

'Till the birds hushed their songs in affright 

Then a yell as of victory sounded; 

Had the dread king discovered their flight? 

Dim forms on the shore became clearer, 
Then the splashing of heavy canoes 
Just behind sounded nearer and nearer. 
They had not a moment to lose. 

These women can swim like the mermaids 
And dive like the fish in the sea; 
So the young chief sprang into the water 
And cried to the maid : "Follow me." 

Down, down through the shadowy water. 
With her hair streaming out on the tide. 
Sank the great chieftain's beautiful daughter 
With the young island chief at her side. 

[38] 



A splashing of waves and then silence, 
By the gray rock an empty canoe ; 
And they rose in the wonderful cavern 
That none but the young chieftain knew. 

It was fifty feet high at the center 
And the widest part, fifty feet wide; 
What foeman could ever there enter 
To harm the young maid or her guide? 

And here the chief hid his brave lady 
'Till the angry king gave up the chase 
In the great cavern, silent and shady, 
Lit but by the sea and her face. 

And here to her palace he carried 
Costly clothing, food, mats and perfume, 
And none knew what treasure was buried 
In the great cavern's silence and gloom. 

And here by his kindness and daring 
His love to the maiden he proved 
And won for his bride the fair damsel 
Whom long without hope he had wooed. 

Meanwhile he prepared for a voyage 
With all of his tribe to depart 
From the land of a cruel oppressor. 
The islands still dear to his heart. 

At last they embarked all in safety 
Unknown to the treacherous king. 
He told them to wait in the shadow 
And his bride from the sea he would bring. 

He dived at the foot of the bowlder, 
His wondering tribe waited amazed 

[39] 



And half (each astonished beholder) 
Believed that the chieftain was crazed. 

Alarmed at his long disappearance ■ 
His people began to deplore, 
O, surely the young chief had perished! 
And they waited in fear by the shore. 

A sound like the rushing of water, 

A sparkling of foam from the tide 

And the gallant young chief of the Tongas 

Rose up from the sea with his bride. 

Her dark hair streamed over the water, 
Her eyes shone like stars in the blue ; 
And the dead chieftain's beautiful daughter 
Was safe in her waiting canoe. 

In a far distant kingdom they rested 
'Till the cruel oppressor was dead, 
Then returned to their homes unmolested 
Where a better king reigned in his stead. 

And long in their palm islands, shady 
Dwelt the chieftain, so noble and brave, 
With his tribe, and his beautiful lady 
Whom he hid in the deep ocean cave. 



[40 



UNDER THE VIOLETS BLUE 

Under the violets blue, under the lilies white 
Dearest, must I or you hidden be first from sight. 
One left to mourn behind, one nevermore to sorrow? 
O, while we live be kind, glad bells may toll to-morrow ! 

Waken fond heart to prize 

Sweet days too brief — too brief for careless, vain forgetting. 

Soft light from happy eyes 

Heart knows no sorrow like the sorrow of regretting. 

Look, from the morning skies 

In clouds and in glory the golden sun is setting. 

Over the violets blue cast wrong and strife behind, 
O, while we live be true ! O, while we live be kind ! 
Over the lilies white make sweet life's deepest sorrow, 
Ring happy bells to-night, bells that may toll to-morrow. 



[41] 



EASTER HYMN 

'Tis morn in Joseph's garden now 
Where death and night and darkness were, 
The lilies still in sadness bow 
Around the Saviour's sepulcher, 
Angels in shining garments clad 
Speak first the word that mortals heed 
'Till Nature, wrapt in gloom, is glad ; 
The Lord is risen, is risen indeed. 

Gladly they bear the message on 
Who stood beside His empty tomb. 
The night is o'er, the darkness gone 
The angels sing, the lilies bloom. 
Powerless the chains of death to bind 
The captive from their bondage freed. 
Death's dreary dungeon left behind, 
The Lord is risen, is risen indeed. 

As rose the sun above the heights 
Chasing the gloom from earth and skies 
Behold above the night of nights 
The Sun of Righteousness arise; 
Burst are the chains of death and hell, 
Go ye, who hear the message, speed. 
Above the graves of nations tell 
The Lord is risen, is risen indeed. 

'Tis morn upon the earth, once more. 
Sweet Easter morn when lilies spring 
To greet the sun from shore to shore 
And saints rejoice and angels sing; 



[42 



All nature now breaks forth in song 
And Easter anthem angels lead 
With joyful hearts the strains prolong, 
The Lord is risen, is risen indeed. 

'Tis morn, the gospel light has streamed 
From Africa's coast to India's strand. 
The dawn of which the prophet dreamed 
Is flooding each benighted land. 
Above the vanities of men 
O'er crumbling shrine and moldering creed 
High o'er the mountain tops of sin 
The Lord is risen, is risen indeed. 



43 



A F.OSOM FRIEND 

I have a friend, a bosom frietKl, 
'Tis many years since first I met her ; 
And while my path and hers don't blend, 
I pray the kindly Fates to pet her. 

She socks the country, for her health, 
"Runs over for a flying visit;" 
The months pass by with noiseless tread, 
It isn't any wonder, is it? 

There's one, at least, admires her style, 
And one, at least, who thinks her pretty; 
And at the distance of a mile 
You'd know, she's lately from the City. 

She calls me now, "her bosom friend," 
And then again, "her country cousin" 
And airs, where'er our way we wend. 
Her street-flirtations, by the dozen ; 

And. just for recreation's sake. 

Her arts on some poor youth she'll practice. 

Then o'er a frog, a spasm take ; 

(She's studying to be an actress.) 

She's sad at times and sometimes gay, 
Grows suddenly so sentimental. 
She's perfect in a tragedy. 
Her fame will yet be — continental. 

My mode of dress, she doesn't commend, 
She'll criticize my every feature ; 
But then, she is my bosom friend 
And such a perfect little creature. 



[44 



She trills the sweet Mikado airs, 
This gushing little maid unwary, 
She finds out all my least affairs 
And makes them like her music — airy. 

Her charms I fully comprehend, 

I know my imperfections better; 

And while her path and mine — don't blend, 

I pray the kindly Fates to pet her. 

May sweet Mikado airs repeat 
To make sublime, life's prickly cactus; 
May dudes still wither at her feet. 
Long may the City keep its actress. 

But should this darling bosom friend 
Be drawn by sweet affection's fetter. 
Another flight with me to spend, 
O, pitying Fates, I pray, don't let her ! 



[45 



THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE 

In through the Golden Gate 

The stately vessels come, 
Cheering the ones who watch and wait 

'Till their faithful ships come home. 
A speck in the distant blue, 

A glimpse of a flashing sail 
Or a steamer ploughing the waters through 

And facing the freshened gale. 
One by one they come, 

Some early and others late; 
But all to be anchored safe at home 

Inside of the Golden Gate. 

From the Orient ports they come, 

From the islands of the sea, 
Ploughing their way through the crested foam 

To the waves' wild melody ; 
While, close in their pathless way, 

The gulls from their rude cliff-nests 
Flap their wings in the driven spray 

And bathe in the foam, their breasts. 
Flags on the sea-breeze chill 

Streaming their colors wide. 
Splashing of waves when storms are still 

On the rising and ebbing tide; 
Vessels from foreign lands. 

Steamers from distant climes. 
Rock in their cradle of silver sands 

To the wild waves' rolling rhymes. 
Side by side in the blue 

Of the dimpling waves at play, 
As up to the busy wharf they drew 

From the golden gate of the bay. 



[46 



Out from the Golden Gate 

One by one they go. 
Each to her fortune or her fate, 

What waits them who can know? 
Who can tell if they come 

Again o'er the harbor bar, 
Ploughing their way through the dashing foam 

In the light of sun or star? 
Who knows but that stately form 

In the distant blue, a speck. 
May lie ere the light of another morn 

In the whelming floods, a wreck? 
Lost! Lost! in the deep 

To the maddened waves a prey, 
Lost ! Lost ! where the caverns sleep 

In fathomless mystery; 
Or lured by the siren's song 

On merciless rocks to dash, 
To sink while the midnight shadows throng 

And severing timbers crash. 

In through the Golden Gate 

In the twilight's deepening hush, 
Out through the Golden Gate 

In the morning's rosy flush ; 
With the port of rest in view, 

O'er the perilous waves to ride, 
Sail the proud ships of our country true 

With the flag of our nation's pride, 
While close in their pathless way 

The gulls from their rude cliff-nests 
Flap their wings in the driven spray 

And bathe in the foam their breasts ; 
And the dark blue waves I love. 

In their aimless frolic reach 



[47 



For the shells in many a sheltered cove 

And the sunbeams on the beach ; 
And another ocean spreads 

Her waste behind, before, 
Where the stern cliffs lift their fog-veiled heads 

And the wild waves laugh and roar. 
And I, in my tossing boat. 

Through the perilous waters, steer 
And strive through the foggy air to note 

Some sign of a haven near. 
Hark! 'tis the syren's song! 

Look ! 'tis a hidden shoal ! 
Dense and dark are the mists that throng 

To hide from my sight, my goal ; 
Many a wreck I've passed. 

Lost! Lost! Shall I share their fate? 
O, to be safe with my anchor cast 

Inside of the Golden Gate ! 
Where the everlasting hills 

All mansion-crowned, appear. 
And no dense fog veils and no damp wind chills 

The beautiful city, there ; 
But where in that haven-home 

There are some who watch and wait 
For each worn, storm-driven barque to come 

In through the Golden Gate. 



[48 



THE CREATION 

From the blackness and darkness of chaos 
Jehovah said : "Let there be light." 
And the first sunny morn knew its dawning 
And the evening stars welcomed the night. 

Through vistas of sunlight and shadows 

The golden shafts melted in space, 

While the new world traversed her bright pathway 

With the smile of God fresh on her face. 

She moved in her beauty and grandeur 
Leaving chaos and darkness behind, 
A world that had first had its being 
In the wealth of the Infinite mind. 

The waves caught the tint of the cloud-lands 
And shouted aloud in their glee 
'Till the Creator silenced their voices 
And shut up the gates of the sea. 

"Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further 
And here shalt thy proud waves be stayed." 
The sea heard her Maker's commandment 
And the fierce briny ocean obeyed. 

The vales smiled with verdure and blossoms, 
The proud rocks rose, silent and gray ; 
But whose were those magical fingers 
That fashioned each delicate spray? 

And who was the marvelous sculptor 
Whose chisel, unheard and unseen. 
Carved out the great rocks and deep basins 
For the cool brooks that fretted between? 

[49] 



Did the angels glean fragments of sunlight 
And tints from the blue of the skies, 
Deep shades from the roseate dawning 
Starry halos and rich sunset dyes 

To wreathe in fantastical splendor 
Around the first beautiful morn, 
And cut into rubies and diamonds 
The bride of the heavens, to adorn? 

The power that subdued the fierce ocean 
Created each flower in the dell. 
The brooks and the bird's brilliant plumage 
And the crags and vast mountains as well; 

And placed in the midst of these treasures. 
In the Eden of beauty and mirth, 
Man, made in His own divine image 
And formed from the dust of the earth. 

Oh ! fair was the first bridal morning 
That God in His wisdom ordained ; 
But alas ! the lost charms of its promise 
Humanity never regained. 

Oh! the matchless perfection of Eden, 
The center of beauty and love. 
Where the Creator blessed the first union 
Recorded by angels above. 

And down through the sin-tarnished ages 
Comes that record, so stainless and true, 
Of the pure and unsullied completeness 
That the world in its innocence knew. 



[50] 



Ere man, by his direful fall, made it 
A prey to destruction and death, 
When the glory of God was upon it 
And Peace, ladened each spicy breath. 

When sparkling with fresh dewy garlands 
She traversed her orbit of light. 
And nature's electrical voices 
Rejoiced at the wonderful sight. 

How the glad morning-stars sang together 
While the moon in the blue zenith hung, 
And the sons of God shouted for joy^' 
In the days when the green earth was young. 

And their happy songs glanced on the waters 
And echoed from mountain to glen, 
'Till a few stray notes borne on the ages 
Floated down to the children of men. 



[51] 



LILY OF THE NILE 

Queenly lily, fair and fragrant, 

I have watched thy charms unroll 
'Till thy gold embossed scepter 
Gleams against thy spotless scroll. 
Stately Ethiopian princess 
From thy realm a fair exile 
Vieing with the rose in sweetness. 
Queenly lily of the Nile. 

Lovely in thy child-like beauty. 

Yet majestic in thy pride; 
Could'st thou be more sweetly gracious 
Nodding by the river side? 

Breath like zephyrs freshly laden 
From some flower-wreathed ocean isle; 
Snow-white Ethiopian maiden, 
Modest lily of the Nile. 

Dost thou feel no pang of longing, 
Dost thou breathe no weary sigh 
For thy native, Orient splendor — 
For thy native, sunlit sky? 

Far away, thou knowest not whither, 
Many, many a weary mile. 
Thy fair sisters bloom and wither, 
Stately lily of the Nile, 

Bloom beneath the palm-tree's shadow 

Just along the river's brink. 
Where gay birds, with brilliant plumage 
Soar to sing, and stoop to drink. 

Plucked by Egypt's dark-eyed daughters 
To adorn some granite pile — 
Fresher from their native waters, 
Snowy lily of the Nile. 

[52] 



'Midst those scenes of Eastern splendor 

Thy ancestral race began — 
Where the night of heathen darkness 
Spread abroad its withering ban ; 
Yet no spot of man's transgressing 
Could thy purity defile, 
Looking heavenward for each blessing, 
Saintly lily of the Nile. 

Did they view thy purer glory 

With their darkened minds unawed? 
Did they learn of thee no lesson 
Of the power and love of God? 
Like a spotless, white-winged angel 
Sent to them untouched by guile, 
Did they spurn thy glad evangel. 
Spotless lily of the Nile? 

O, could they have looked from Nature 

Unto Nature's God alone, 
Would they not have scorned to worship 
Images of wood and stone? 

Would they not, thy beauty seeing. 
Have looked up in faith erewhile 
To the God who gave thee being 
Matchless lily of the Nile? 



[53 



PACIFIC GROVE 

(Dedicated to the Methodist Episcopal Annual Conference, 
meeting at Pacific Grove.) 

Again the pines wave welcome at our coming ; 

The waves sound forth glad ecstasies of greeting, 

And like an old-time friend, Pacific Grove 

Makes room for all the joyous throng, who love 

Her sea-breeze, where in blended charms are meeting 

Fragrance of flowers and church-bell's mellow chiming. 

Once more we look in kind, familiar faces, 

And clasp glad hands. 

And see friends meet who have grown wiser, older. 

In distant lands. 

For Thou, O Lord, who formed this resting spot. 

Thou only changest not. 

Though storms dissolve the beach's granite bowlder 

To shifting sand, that at their mercy rolls, 

They enter not thy temple's holiest places 

In human souls. 

A little while to gather living pleasures, 

Like flowers from crag and cliff, 

And cast old care, like sea-weed on the billows 

To drag and drift. 

"Peace," is the motto of this seaside nest; 

Fold tired wings and aching hearts, and rest; 

World-weary brains find sleep on Nature's pillows 

By blossoms overgrown, 

And leave to heaven the earth-begotten treasures 

Thy human heart has known. 



[54] 



Again the pines wave welcome ! 
Shall we, coming, bring hearts alive to swell 
At artist's visions, poet's inspiration — 
The true musician's spell? 

Souls with the Christian's heaven-born hope attune, 
And from the earliest dawn to night's high noon. 
In street and temple — by the grand old ocean — 
We shall see pictures, feel immortal poems, hear God's 
Recessional. 



[55 



GOING DOWN HILL 

You may not travel very fast 

When first you've started down, 
You may not stumble at the first 

And fall and break your crown, 
You may find only flowery slopes 

So easy to descend ; 
But heed a warning voice, in time, 

'Tis not so at the end. 

Steeper and steeper will become 

The dark defiles before, 
Faster and faster grow your speed 

'Till you behold, no more. 
The grassy slopes, the flowery glens, 

The first bright shallow rill 
You crossed, with such a buoyant tread. 

When starting down the hill. 

You may be half way down, if so. 

Just pause awhile and think, 
'Twill be too late for thought, you know 

When quaking on the brink 
Of the great, awful precipice, 

To which your footsteps tend, 
You surely would retrace your steps 

Could you but see the end. 

Though near the end, there may be hope 

And help and safety still, 
Stop! learn where you are standing now 

On this great moral hill ; 
Ponder on all that's gained before 

And all that's lost behind. 
Turn back, and purer, clearer air 

At each brave effort, find. 

[56] 



Help from a strong arm, reaching down 

From Heaven, in mercy ask ; 
Remember every step you climb, 

Easier grows your task. 
Above you lie the flowery slopes 

And sunny, taintless air; 
Below, oh, stagnant, poisonous sloughs 

And cruel rocks are there ! 

Yet though brave hearts may strive in time 

To warn you, if you will, 
In spite of friends and Heaven and sense. 

You'll travel down the hill ; 
When mangled by your awful fall 

Into a dark abyss, 
Remember that a friendly voice 

Warned you in time of this. 



[57] 



THE TRUE DIGNITY OF LABOR 

Sometime, somewhere, on art's high walls shall hang 
A picture that all men shall turn to praise, 
Forgetting that these broken harp-chords sang 
In the far past its golden prophecies ; 
Beholding, strong, courageous, from the fight 
The dignity of labor's armored knight. 

And will one say the artist's dream is wrong? 
False sentiment has nerved his eager hand? 
The honest laborer is the column strong 
On which all universal structures stand, 
Hew down these pillars standing side by side 
And great will be the fall — the ruin wide. 

Picture great cities clamoring for food 
While plenteous grain-fields stand unharvested. 
Picture the fires gone out, no coal or wood 
And children crying for their daily bread. 
While vineyards lie unpruned and orchards spoil 
Because the laborer has ceased to toil. 

Still fancy painteth scenes — the half-built dome, 

The unfinished glory of the architect. 

The slow decaying beauty of the home 

For want of paint and reparation wrecked, 

The flocks unshorn — want that no hopes assuage — 

Because the workman ceaseth on life's stage. 

See higher stations, by the lowlier fed, 
Deserted for the fields where labor delves ; 
The learned and great striving for daily bread 
While wisdom gathers dust on idle shelves; 
Then tell me honest labor is no part 
Of the great world of intellect and heart? 



[58 



But view the dust-stained sons of toil return 
Like a vast army in their solemn march. 
Would not for them ten thousand welcomes burn 
In splendor from one grand triumphal arch, 
And wealth and fashion honor haste to do 
Unto the many who must serve the few ? 

When shall the artist's canvas honor him 
Whom a false bigotry will not perceive 
Rising from mists of ignorance, low and dim 
'Till side by side with all who would achieve 
He stands with noble aim for human good 
In light of universal brotherhood? 

He looketh not in dumb dejection pressed 

Down to ignoble clods, but up and out. 

His calling — it is one among the rest, 

He meets it without questioning or doubt 

And though he flaunts no sword and breasts no spoil 

All honored be his implements of toil. 

Thus leave him — the erect and noble-browed, 
Whom future generations gather round 
When he who o'er his task an exile bowed 
Stands as a prince upon his native ground, 
Strong his right arm to wring by honest toil 
The Nation's life-blood from a hallowed soil. 



[59] 



THE WILD DEER 

Fly for thy life, fleet, frightened creature, fly! 

Fly for thy life, or thou art doomed to die ! 

Swift in thy track, the hounds, thy hoof -prints scent, 

Faster and faster, on their prey intent. 

O, pause not in the grassy dingle now, 

Nor think to rest upon the mountain's brow ; 

For life and liberty, thy speed increase! 

Broken is now the forest's slumbrous peace, 

As bounding onward, swift as a gazelle. 

Through manzanita brush and chaparral; 

With panting sides, but fleet, unfailing limbs, 

O'er fallen trees, down gorges, grand and grim. 

The startled rabbit, swift before him flies ; 

Quick! to his hole, the frightened ground-squirrel hies. 

The quail flocks, feeding in the forest's shade, 

With whirring wings, desert the weedy glade. 

Nearer and nearer, come the fearless hounds 

But far and swift, the frightened creature bounds. 

Through tangled thickets, reedy marshes, through; 

Until his graceful form is lost to view. 

With hopeless zeal, the fierce hounds follow on ; 

They turn, they pause, the fleet-limbed prey is gone. 

They snuff the mountain air, but all in vain, 

They try to scent the missing track again ; 

At last they stop — give up the useless chase — 

The fleet-limbed deer has won the breathless race. 



Away beyond the ridge's pine-fringed crest 
The panting creature stops at last to rest, 
Sad-eyed and beautiful, but trembling still. 
He scans with anxious gaze the distant hill ; 
Fear not, proud, gentle creature, still for thee 
All Nature spreads her table, thou art free. 



[60 



Free, to quaff nectar from the spring's fair face, 
To view in glassy pools, thy mirrowed grace ; 
Free, to roam leisurely the grassy hills, 
Or browse the tender herbage by the rills ; 
Free, to wade knee-deep in the reed-fringed pond 
Or rest, at noon-tide, in the shade beyond. 
Thy late pursuers, baffled, cease their chase. 
No foe will harm thee, in thy resting-place; 
Soon, with thy faithful, boon companions near, 
Forgotten all thy terror, danger, fear. 
Thy fearless feet shall roam thy native sward 
Unstained, unsullied by thy warm life blood. 
The hunter's tiresome search is all in vain. 
Lost is the splendid prize he hoped to gain; 
Yet I can but rejoice that thou art free. 
Fleet, gentle creature, born to liberty. 



[6i] 



WHEN SANKEY SANG 

I longed for heavenly harmony to raise 
My soul from earth to heaven, that I might lose 
My earthly burdens in that glory, whose 
Walls are salvation, and whose gates are praise, 
But no ; I felt the worth of everything. 
When I heard Sankey sing. 

He sang of Heaven, but deep and rich and strong 
A mighty undercurrent seemed to speak ; 
To fret for Heaven, were selfish, mean and weak 
When earth needs help from suffering and wrong; 
I, patience gained for duty's tarrying. 
When I heard Sankey sing. 

I was a little tired of earth before, 
A little weary of life's common things, 
I wanted golden harps and angel wings, 
On sweeps of song above the clouds to soar ; 
But glorified, seemed every common thing, 
When I heard Sankey sing. 

O, sadly would God's work unfinished lie 
If every pilgrim dropt his load to-day. 
No faithful one, "Thy kingdom come" to pray 
And do God's will on earth as in the sky. 
None patiently to Christ's earth-cross to cling. 
No Christian left to sing. 



[62 



BABY MAY 

I cannot mourn for you to-day 

Amid life's dizzy whirl, 
I miss you since you went away 
And yet I cannot truly say 
That I would wish you back to-day, 

Dear little angel girl! 

I cannot sigh for you, or weep. 
It may seem strange and wrong, 

But woman's path at best is steep 

Its troubled waters dark and deep 

And oh, so tranquil is thy sleep. 
So tranquil and so long ! 

Sometimes I half rejoice to know 

Thy little weary feet 
Shall never stumble tired and slow 
Up life's hard road of sin and woe 
But evermore rejoicing go 

Along the golden street ; 

And then sometimes a magic book 

Seems opened to my eyes 
Where on fair scenes I long may look. 
Where smiles thy face from flowery nook 
Or calm as when thy spirit took 

Its journey to the skies. 



[63 



JOSEPHINE 

(The last word spoken by Napoleon the 
Great, before his death, in the prison at St. 
Helena, was the name of his first wife, the 
Empress Josephine.) 

Sternest soldiers are the guards 
Of these rocky battlements, 
Bright the glistening of their swords, 
Keen their bristling bayonets. 

Not the martialed power of France 
Dares this fortress height to scale, 
Britain here her standard plants, 
Streams her pennons on the gale. 

Past the scowling battlements, 
Past the British lion bold. 
Past the bristling bayonets. 
Stalks a monster grim and old. 

None beside has dared to storm 
Fortress rock, or prison bar. 
Death, with sure release, has come 
To the prisoned Emperor. 

Burns the tropic sun o'erhead 
With a fervent, lurid glare. 
Sounds the soldier's measured tread 
Guarding Britain's prize with care. 

To a narrow cell consigned 
On a lonely isle outcast ; 
Where is now that mighty mind 
Midst the ruins of the past ? 

[64] 



Does the fatal Waterloo 
To Napoleon's mind recall 
Martialed armies into view 
Trooping through his prison wall ? 

Amid Russia's frozen snow, 
Over Egypt's burning sands, 
Do his armored warriors go 
At their leader's stern commands? 

Does the eagle, that has won 
Victory's zenith for his brow. 
Brighter than the noon-day sun. 
Thrill with pride his bosom now? 

Or does she, the Empress Queen, 
Careless of his hopeless fate, 
Grace his life's brief closing scene 
In her royal robes of state? 

Is her name upon his lips 
Who his crown and crime could share, 
Watch his glory's dark eclipse 
And forsake his deep despair? 

One face only does he see 
Fresh on recollection's scroll ; 
One loved name, one memory 
Soothes at last his troubled soul. 

She, the wronged, the fair, the good. 

Victim of ambition's greed. 

In her injured womanhood 

Can she soothe him in his need? 



[^S 



Does her angel spirit, strong 
From some distant sphere descend, 
With forgiveness for her wrong, 
O'er his dying couch to bend? 

Broken-hearted, beautiful. 
Last to close his weary eyes 
With her gentle spirit full 
Of the love that never dies. 

He the strong and yet the weak, 
He the lofty and the low. 
Moves his ashen lips to speak 
Ere the monster bids him go. 

One alone Napoleon crowns 
First and last his Empress Queen, 
List! his mighty spirit sounds 
Its last echo, "Josephine." 



[66 



BETHLEHEM 
(A Christmas Song.) 

Bethlehem, fair Bethlehem ! 
Judea's glittering lustrous gem ! 
Of thee, unending songs shall sing, 
Thou birth-place of the Saviour, King, 

O Bethlehem, fair Bethlehem! 

Resplendent stars thy heavens gem; 

Stars that with holy radiance shine 

And angel songs are ever thine. 

O Bethlehem, bright Bethlehem ! 

No mist of time, thy light can dim. 

Thine every terraced, vine-wreathed hill 

Is lit with heavenly splendor still. 
O Bethlehem, bright Bethlehem ! 
Thou loveliest in earth's diadem. 
An angel choir above thee sings 

. Thou birthplace of the King of Kings! 

O Bethlehem, glad Bethlehem ! 

We see thee as thou wast to them 

Who bore their costly gifts, afar, 

Beneath thy guiding eastern star. 
O Bethlehem, glad Bethlehem! 
We fain would sing of thee, with them 
Whose heaven-born songs majestic rolled. 
As heaven swung back her gates of gold. 

O Bethlehem, blest Bethlehem ! 
Judea's glittering, lustrous gem! 
Angelic songs seem still to fall 
In hallowed music over all. 

O Bethlehem, blest Bethlehem! 

When, in the New Jerusalem, 

We greet again our Saviour, King; 

Our thoughts will turn to thee and sing. 

[67] 



IN THE REDWOODS 

Before, behind, on either side they rise, 
Roots in the ground and summits in the skies. 
Huge trunks that tower Hke ancient pillars high, 
Gigantic roots that deep embedded lie 
And starry sprays of tiny twiglets swung 
To the still breeze, and each a living tongue 

Meeting and mingling in the mournful shades 
Whose plaintive sadness all the air pervades 
Like an imprisoned soul of song that pines 
And all her pining into music twines, 
Deep as the buried roots that live below, 
Sublime as the proud summit's sunlight glow. 
Yet wandering like a spirit smothering 
The prisoned requiem she fain would sing 
That ever and anon will swell and rise, 
Then into sombre silence sweetly dies. 

By yonder circling stream wild roses throw 
Their pale pink petals in the depths below 
And where obscurest shades dark waters hold 
Frail feathery ferns their fairy fronds unfold 
And swaying, stirring, straying o'er the brink 
Exhaustless moisture from the streamlet drink; 
While far above some wandering recluse 
Lets all his wildest, richest, numbers loose 
And in sonorous song sweet sadness drowns. 
And stays the soothing sense of softer sounds. 



[68] 



Away through bending boughs, soft shadows through, 

He speeds, nor pauses once to bid adieu, 

^ohan vespers lead the listless strain 

And tiny twiglets tune their lyres again, 

To pensive musing every fancy goes 

And Nature's ballads lull to sweet repose. 

Beneath the tall tree's shade a cabin lone 

Falls into ruin, while the ceaseless moan 

Above its desolation shrieks and stirs 

Chanted by hosts of princely conifers, 

Around its lowly door rank verdure thrives, 

The yerba buena fresh and green survives 

The slow decay that dooms the cabin wall 

Of which prophetic Nature chants the fall, 

The wild wood oxalis in beauty spreads 

jMatting the doorway where no footsteps tread 

And plants of every shade of emerald hue 

Twist, twine and tangle all the door-yard through; 

While busy chipmunks seek the hazel brush, 

Where their blithe chattering breaks the slumbrous hush, 

To gather hoards of nuts and gaily frisk. 

O'er fallen redwood logs, graceful and brisk. 

But still the voices of the trees complain 
And still the wandering winds sob forth the strain 
Though the wild wind that rocks the giant trees 
Trembles the low plants through, a summer breeze. 
Queen of the West, what fortune gave to thee 
Nature's sublimest, grandest orchestra ? 



[69] 



The throbbing keys of ocean rise and lower 
Timing the lofty choir upon the shore 
No other clime can boast, no country claim 
Thy royal heritage of world-wide fame, 
Before, behind, on either side they rise 
Roots in the ground and summits in the skies. 

What sound of distant harmony is heard ? 

The redwoods listen. Hush ! their twigs are stirred 

By sea-breeze notes. Pacific's organ swells 

And answered from the mountains, rocks and dells 

Before, behind, on either side the surge 

Of praiseful anthem, of prophetic dirge. 

Soars to the skies and backward to the sea 

Queen of the West, this is thy orchestra ! 



[70] 



UNREQUITED LOVE 

He was a youth of doubtful age 
Not more than forty, one would guess, 
But wise as many an older sage 
And faultless in his dress. 

His hat was of the latest height 
And hue, such as the dove might own. 
The path by which he took his flight 
Was smoky with cologne. 

And oh ! the fragrant cheap cigars, 
'Twould take a Tennyson to dwell 
(In words that journey to the stars) 
On his esthetic sense of smell. 

Where'er he went a loud perfume 
Swept like a thunder-cloud behind 
And oh! the fragrance of his room 
Fit symbol of his state of mind. 

For as the poet says, he was 
A love-sick swain, that common bird 
Whose sweetest note amid the buzz 
Of daily life is often heard. 

Poor Unrequited Love, his sweets 
Were lost upon the desert air. 
His girl was tired of candy treats 
Or for cologne she didn't care. 

7or sigh as loudly as he might 

A.nd smile as sweetly as he could 

she kept discreetly out of sight 

Or passed him speechless where he stood. 

[71] 



His candy in his pocket lodged, 
His verses to his desk returned, 
Returning freight he vainly dodged 
Yet still his love the higher burned. 

No more within the lamp's warm glare 
His charms of rosy splendor bloom, 
He walks alone in open air 
Beneath the rising moon. 

His faithful friend whose willing ear 
Oft heard his whispered confidence 
Is airing all his secrets dear 
Across the orchard fence. 

His pillow swims in hopeless tears 
And when his weary track 
Leads past some serious girls, he hears 
A giggle at his back. 

But still with pluck to be admired 
He hovers sweetly 'round 
Though his eye once with joy inspired 
Now rests upon the ground. 

And still his bosom-friend repeats 
His latest agonies 
And still his widely lavished sweets 
Come back to bless his eyes. 

O sad, sad story to relate ! 

Ye damsels all give ear. 

And ye who hope to share his fate 

The needful moral hear : 



[72] 



Only a cruel, heartless girl 
Could such perfumery scorn, 
Compel a lad of tender years 
To wander forth forlorn. 

Only a brave and dauntless youth 
Of forty more or less 
Could take this Latin motto's truth 
To comfort his distress : 

"Dum Spiro Spero" — very short 
But quite appropriate. 
Listen, ye lads of fainter heart 
Who share a similar fate. 

Epitaph 

Here lie the stumps of cheap cigars, 
The ghosts of cheap cologne 
Float coldly 'neath the twinkling stars 
Where has the hero gone? 



[73] 



BOAT RIDING ON BLUE LAKES, CALIFORNIA 

Dip the light oar by the shadowy shore, 
And raise it twined with a dripping wreath 

Of traiUng mosses, tangled and torn. 

Curls from some nymph of the lakeside shorn. 

Or fringes from the mantle worn 

By some emerald-robed mermaid reclining there. 

O, gladly the sun with his brightest smile 
Bursts forth from his cloudy sheath, 

And the blue, blue heavens lie overhead. 
And the blue, blue waters beneath ! 

The beautiful azure lake unrolled 

jMirrors her fringed brim 
The sunbeams quiver in pools of gold. 
And the gnarled old trees, and the mountains old. 
And the vines that droop o'er the waters cold, 

Are reflected the depths within. 
Merrily sing, while the light boat speeds 
Away from the shore with its tangled weeds; 
Sing ! till the hoary hills awake 
And the forest trees into music break. 
Countless gifts at her hands we take, 
Have we no songs for the bonny blue lake ? 
O, the glorious sun with a smile benign 
Has burst from his cloudy sheath, 
And the blue, blue heavens above me shine, 

And the blue, blue waters beneath ! 

Lilies, lilies along the shore. 
They stand in the rushes high, 



[74] 



Lightly they bend to the dripping oar, 
Around them the blue, blue waters pour 
And above them the blue, blue sky. 

The tremulous sunbeams quiver and dance, 
Then pause as if held in a magic trance. 

What care we for aught beside, 

As o'er the beautiful lake we glide? 

Do we sigh for a glimpse of sunny France, 

Could Switzerland's snow-capped mountains stern 

Or Italy's breeze our joy enhance? 

Let the German sing of his castled Rhine, 
And the Scot of his hills of heath. 

When my own blue heavens above me shine. 
And the blue, blue waters beneath. 



75 



THE SONG OF HOPE 

Why do you sing, blithe meadow-lark, in joyous cheerful peals? 
Night has just torn his mantle dark, from off the waving fields, 

The winds but bear your notes away 

Where last year's tenements decay; 
Soon, soon, shall fade the dawning day, and perish in the 
gloaming. 

But still you sing, nor count the cost of morning's fleeting hours 
Nor deem that all your notes are lost among the heedless flowers ; 

Your last year's nestlings all have flown 

They carol now in parts unknown. 
But still you warble here alone, as one who knows no sorrow. 

Go back again, thou joyous one, go to thy last year's nest. 
Alas ! thy work is all undone, oh, art thou not unblest ! 

Where swung thy cozy domicile 

A few loose straws are left to tell. 
While those who in it used to dwell have flown away forever. 

But still unmindful of your loss, you trill in joyous glee, 
Your music floats the fields across, from sorrow ever free; 

No thought of vanished Summer-times, 

No longings linked with other climes. 
No toll of sorrow's mournful chimes, disturbs its sprightly 
measure. 

Oh ! in thy breast a harp is hung that sorrow cannot bind. 
The song it evermore has sung, was not for grief designed; 

It knows no measure of despair. 

Complaint can find no echo there; 
It has no chords for grief and care, for hope is all its being. 



[76 



Why do you sing, oh heart of mine, and join the lark's glad strain, 
Your little day will soon decline to never dawn again ; 

Your last year's joys lie cold and dead 

And stir not from their silent bed 
And stalking dimly in their stead, a thousand disappointments? 

Oh ! in your inmost, secret shrine a deathless harp is hung, 
Its music is forever thine, by other lyres unsung; 

It holds no phantom in its scope, 

No dark foreboding, there, may grope; 
'Tis timed and tuned by deathless hope and hope is all its being. 

Trill, happy lark, though ruined lies the home once all your 

pride 
Though time all loving skill defies, it yet shall be defied ; 
Chant o'er the wrecks of stern decay 
Hope's happiest, holiest prophecy, 
The wind may bear your notes away but mine shall sound 
forever. 



[77] 



CONNECTING LINKS 

There are cables through the ocean 
There are wires across the land 
There are unseen chords uniting 
Heart to heart and hand to hand, 

There are links of love that lengthen 

'Till they measure land and sea, 

There are chains that time will strengthen 

'Till they span eternity. 

Farther than the mighty cable 
These electric chains may reach 
Through the heart of life's great Babel 
Throbbing with unuttered speech, 

Miles of land or sea can never 

Faithful loving friends divide 

Though great yawning chasms sever 

Many dwelling side by side. 

Then may distance, distance only 

Have the power to part us here. 

Though oft longing, though oft lonely 

We can think with hopeful cheer 
Of the links of love that lengthen 
'Till they measure land and sea. 
Of the chains that time will strengthen 
'Till they span eternity. 



[78] 



BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

How beautiful to think amid the crosses, 
Amid the petty cares and daily losses 

That every heart must know 
That somewhere far above this life's brief story, 
Somewhere above earth's mingled grief and glory 

There is no care, no woe. 

How sweet to think when racked with pain and anguish. 
When called in sickness and disease to languish 

'Till life is but despair. 
That somewhere far beyond our dim horizon 
In the bright city of a realm Elysian 

There is no anguish there. 

How comforting when bowed and almost broken 
In the wild sorrow of a loss unspoken 

When fled are life and breath. 
To look above the wrecks of earthly hoping, 
To know beyond where love is blindly groping 

There are no tears — no death ; 

So amid all the trials and tribulations 
That to all ages and all earthly stations 

Life's few swift years may bring 
How beautiful to think, while clouds are lowering 
Beyond where there impending gloom is towering 

Somewhere the angels sing. 



[79 



UXDER THE ALDERS 

Here within the alder's shadow, in this cool retreat, 
Sheltered by the leafy branches 
From the scorching heat ; 
I have found a sweet seclusion 
From all outward things, 
Flinging every care and worry 
On the zephyr's wings. 

In the liquid depths and ripples of the slumbrous stream, 
With the wild-bird's song vibrating 
Vine-wreathed banks between, 
I have sunk life's proud ambitions 
And her petty strife, 
Gleaning fresher thought and vigor 
For the march of life. 

Could I ask a throne more charming than this rocky ledge, 
Sloping down in gradual cadence 
To the water's edge? 
Could I ask a song more thrilling 
Than the anthem sung 
By choristers coquetting 
Dark-green boughs among? 

Not a sound to interrupt them comes from groves or hills, 

Here they chatter, scream and carol 

At their own sweet wills ; 
Save that down the dusty road-way, winding bare and brown. 

Now and then a carriage passes 

To the distant town. 
Or some teamster noisily rattles o'er the wooden bridge, 

Making all the sleeping echoes 

Bound from ridge to ridge. 



80] 



Or perhaps, a dark-browed Indian wanders slowly by 
Glancing at this tranquil shelter 
With his fierce dark eye. 
Do these gnarled heroic warriors 
Towering side by side, 
Waken no vague recollection 
Of his vanquished tribe ? 

Do no thoughts of nature's grandeur light his darkened mind, 
As with noiseless tread, he slowly 
Leaves them all behind? 
Poor, lone man, a cloud of darkness 
O'er your mental vision frowns. 
Will not the "Great Spirit" lift it 
In those upper hunting grounds? 

Overhead the boughs uniting form a temple high 
With its massive domes extending 
Toward the filmy sky; 
While amid its cloistered stillness 
On warm Sabbath eves. 
One may hear the sweetest praises 
Floating through the leaves. 

Nature here unclasps her volume, wrought in flowers and vines, 
From each page I gladly study 
Her own fair designs ; 
Rugged rocks and sands and mosses 
Lessons sweet impart. 
Stamping many a thought of beauty 
Deep on mind and heart. 

Sitting in this old cathedral, in its sombre shades 
Where the eloquence of nature 
Every heart persuades; 



8i 



He who does not feel its grandeur 
In his very soul 
Must be in his nature frozen 
As the Arctic pole. 

Grand old trees, a thousand questions, 
I would yet propound, 
For I know with weird traditions 
Your past lives abound ; 
I would bid you tell your story 
Since your lives began, 
But I know you never told it 
To the ear of man; 

So content with simply knowing what you are to-day, 
Happy as the laughing children 
'Neath your boughs at play, 
I can gather stores of wisdom 
From your very looks ; 
I can feel what sages never 
Found in hoards of books. 



[82] 



THINK FOR YOURSELF 

How many we meet as we travel along 

Who go with the tide of the popular throng, 

What other men think, they think, and no more. 

What other men do, doing, they are secure; 

So on with the current they eddy and whirl. 

Never pausing to look for Truth's beautiful pearl; 

But what if Galileo long years ago 

Had not dared to steer 'gainst the tide's changeless flow ? 

And oh ! what if Luther had gone with the tide 

And done what they did, and done nothing beside? 

And what if Columbus had buried his light 

And let the world grope in its ignorant night. 

Because all alone, he with Truth had to stand, 

Where now might have languished our beautiful land? 

What banner of Truth over error would wave 

If none ever dared false opinion to brave? 

But they clung to their pearls while the mocking crowd passed 

And Truth twined for them fadeless laurels at last. 

And many another whose name is forgot 

But whose thoughts, words, and deeds into sunbeams are wrought, 

That stream down the ages to light some dark place 

Or shine like the stars on a benighted race; 

So whate'er you do, though you travel alone, 

Think for yourself, have a mind of your own; 

For the thoughts we are thinking must fashion the world, 

And if false, or if true, they shall sometime be hurled 

Far out of our reach down the centuries' flight; 

As clouds to their day, or as stars to their night. 



[83] 



THE COYOTE 

Forth from his lonely haunt, 
Lean, evil-eyed and gaunt 

Stealthily stealing 
To where on low chemise 
Hang tattered shreds of fleece 
Guiding to where in peace 

The flocks are kneeling. 

Crackling of underbrush 
Breaks on the forest's hush 

Some wanderer telling. 
Then on the startled ear 
Far off and then more near 
Sounds forth distinct and clear 

A hideous yelling. 

Haste little lambs and flee, 
Quick comes an enemy 

Reckless with hunger. 
Lean are his ugly jaws, 
Hollow his evil eyes, 
As from his den he goes 

Seeking for plunder. 

Sheep running here and there 
Helpless from sudden fear 

Warned of their danger, 
What has the calm flock seen ? 
Close by the wild ravine 
With fierce and threatening mien 

Stands a gaunt stranger. 

Short is the cruel chase, 
Then from a sheltered place 

[84] 



Strange sounds ensuing 
Tell of a victim dead, 
Tell of a meal soon spread, 
Tell of a fate most dread 

Wily pursuing. 

Hark! Now from far away 
Echoes a low, deep bay 

From ridge to hollow, 
Ears pricked up at the sound. 
Then with a sudden bound 
Clears he the gory ground ; 

Hounds soon will follow. 

Crackling of underbrush, 
Then, as before, a hush 

Deep and oppressive 
Save for the frightened feet 
Far off in quick retreat 
And now and then a bleat 

Still apprehensive. 

Soon on the ridge's height 
Hunters appear in sight, 

Hounds traveling faster 
Find where the prey was slain 
Down in the wild ravine ; 
Where has the culprit gone ? 

No one can answer. 

Hunters of high repute 
Back from a vain pursuit 

Weary and baffled. 
Stealthy and cunning foe 
Still your sly ends pursue. 
Culprits more low than you 

Escape the scaffold. 

[85] 



EARTH AND SKY 

We claim the earth as ours to sell and buy 

None claim the sky. 
To the broad, bright dominion of the Sun 

Titles have none. 
Mile after mile it stretches on afar 

From star to star, 
Span after span extend its arches, proud, 

From cloud to cloud. 
Rulers are born or chosen for the earth 

Throughout its girth. 
The sky's clear distance beautiful and broad 

Is ruled by God ; 
No petty despot will, one planet hath 

Swerved from its path 
Or caused the loyal clouds to tribute pay 

By night or day. 
We change the earth's green surface with our hands 

Lay waste its lands, 
Hew down its forests or with noise and shock 

Tear up its solid rock ; 
No feeble blundering hand can touch to mar 

Sun, cloud or star. 
Vast domes and monuments we rear and plan. 

Great rivers span, 
But not one dome 'midst those above we lift 

Nor bridge one rift 
In all the white cloud-continents that lie 

Strewn o'er the sky. 
We launch strong ships to sail the ocean o'er 

From shore to shore; 



[86 



We cannot send one fairy yacht to ply 

The bhie waves of the sky. 
We call the spot of earth our hands have sown 

By right our own, 
But never title to the fields above 

Can mortal prove; 
We watch it stretched above, before, behind 

O'er all mankind ; 
We claim a little while these earthly clods, 

The sky is God's. 
Ah ! could we take upon some summer night 

Our joyful flight 
Up to the blue, blue heights that look so fair 

And pausing there 
Look down to earth through far immensity 

What would we see? 
One tiny star that none may sell or buy 
In God's great sky. 



[87] 



THE BUGLE AND THE BATTLE 

Gear are the bugle tones and sweet 
That the ether waves of the sk)- repeat. 
Harsh is the battle's roar and din 
That the stem hills echo back again. 

Bugle, sweet bugle, the bard of fame 
With his deathless song has linked thy name 
And thy silver tones like echoes play 
Through the humble minstrel's sweetest lay. 

Battle, stern battle, on histor}-'s page 
Thy hosts in perpetual conflict rage, 
In heroic song is thy glory told. 
From age to age is thy discord rolled. 

Peace spreads out her wings o'er our land afar 
She has hushed the blood-chilling clang of war, 
But the battle of life goes on around 
Though the cannon's voice is no dreaded sound. 

There is discord and danger in human life 
But Hsten, blent with its toil and strife 
There are beautiful notes that rise and fall 
In heavenly harmony through it all. 

Life has its battle, its toilsome fight 

Where the wrong oft triumphs, o'er the right, 

Where the strong and the brave to their foemen yield 

And the fallen are strev%'n o'er the fier)^ field. 

Life has its struggle, its march of toil 
Where opposing forces brave effort foil, 
Where the harsh discordant notes of strife 
Are heard on the battle ground of life. 



Life has its bugle-tones, high and sweet 
Above the discord of trampling feet ; 
There is music, courage, hope and cheer 
In the bugle-tones that all m.ay hear. 

Above the stifling of smoke and dust 
They float to earth on the wind's wild gust. 
They soar and sing midst the thickest strife. 
The high, sweet bugle-tones of life. 

clear voiced bugle, your notes shall speed 
The fainting heart and the panting steed 
'Till truth shall triumph, while error dies, 
And the blast of victor}- thrills the skies I 

'Till the dust and the smoke of the fier)- fray 
Like the mists of the morning have cleared away 
'Till the bravest, noblest hosts have won 
And the toilsome march of the world is done. 

Awake stem hills to the battle's clash, 
Its thunders deepen, its lightnings flash; 
Far, far above it and over it all 

1 can hear the sound of the bugle call. 



[89 



EASTER DAY 

The happiest day of all the year is this 

By song and sunshine ushered in, 

Only the tyranny of sin 

Can cloud her perfect joyousness, 

Only the minor strain of wrongs 

Can sadden her immortal songs. 

Christmas we sang a Saviour's birth, 
To-day that Saviour crucified 
Has risen triumphant, glorified, 
And waked the Easter song of earth. 
That song by Easter angels led 
That Christ is risen from the dead. 

And the fair Easter lilies rise 

From the long burial underground, 

Symbols of life in victory crowned 

Of Earth responding to the skies. 

Of Nature bursting Earth's brown crust. 

Of beauty risen from the dust. 

Each year the lilies hear the call 
Of prophecy, of hope and trust. 
Awake and sing who dwell in dust 
And the fair lilies waken all, 
And old Earth listens for the voice 
That bids her waken and rejoice. 

Softly the waking call doth come : — 
Awake and sing, all hearts that dwell 
Earth-burdened like the lily bell. 



[90] 



Wake the glad hymn on tongue long dumb, 
Let angels roll the stone away 
From life and light and love to-day. 

And may the voiceless lilies bear 
To every soul a message breathed 
In fragrance and with beauty wreathed, 
To sorrow, — hope; to sin, — a prayer. 
And happy hearts go forth to swell 
The anthem of the lily bell. 

And sweet shall sound the lily chime 
Glad Easter coming, here, and gone, 
'Till death and night and sin shall dawn 
Into a nightless morning clime 
With all Earth-darkness cast aside 
And all Earth-brightness glorified. 



[91] 



AMBITIONS CLIMAX. 

There is no climax in Ambition's scope, 
Behold her wrestling with the angel, Hope, 
And beating back the Demon of Despair, 
Yet looking for a brighter crovsTi to wear ; 
Despair enchains her, Hope her transient guest. 
Unfurls her wings, and leaves her still unblest; 
But naught can keep her quenchless ardor back; 
She bears the struggling Demon in her track, 
Mounts on the wind's wild wings, her zeal on fire; 
And treads the paths to which her dreams aspire. 
She goeth forth to conquer, and the fall 
Of giant empires, and the leveled wall 
Of each strong cit\-, bathed in human blood. 
Lift up their voices, 'tiU from where they stood 
Goes forth the oft-repeated, mournful en,- 
Of : "FaUen 1 fallen ! fallen !" whose reply 
Is peal on peal of victory's bugle blast 
In echoing cadence, dying out at last; 
But what to her is triumph but a force 
To spur her onward in her upward course? 
Lo, as the last proud empire mourns her fall. 
Ambition weeps that she hath conquered — all, 
Lifts up her hands, that earth can never feel. 
And pants for other worlds to conquer still. 
She goeth forth, new countries to explore. 
Dark miles of inland and imtrampled shore 
She breaks upon, and her enkindled seal. 
Like a bright torch, their rayless mines reveal. 
Into the vaults of Time, she penetrates, 
And knowledge, new, discovers and creates ; 



[92] 



Braves the wild jungle with unfaltering breath, 

And speeds unguarded to the jaws of death; 

Defies the poisoned arrows, in her way, 

Of fiendish human beasts that scent their prey. 

Faces the dread contagion of disease. 

If in each awful guise, new light she sees 

Bursts forth again, with priceless treasure fraught. 

Stars to illume the broad realm of thought. 

But does she then recline in peace content. 

Her zeal consumed, her fadeless ardor spent? 

No. While the life-blood surges in her veins, 

Her zeal revives, her ardor bright remains. 

A captive in the palace-courts of ease, 

V.'ith strengthening aim, her restless powers she frees. 

Willingly are the silken fetters torn 

In pride and boasting, by so many worn. 

Gladly she speeds the glittering portal through 

And greets the triumph that her steps pursue. 

She gathereth in the gold of Ophir bright, — 

Food to her mind and beaut)^ to her sight. 

She layeth up the treasures of the mine 

No more in grandeur's coronet to shine; 

On her bright store, no pr\-ing eye may gaze. 

That swift increases with the fleeting days. 

No eye may know its beaut}- but her own; 

She revels in her treasure-house alone. 

And grudges the mere pittance that sustains 

The blighted mind and body that remains. 

"More ! More !" her en.-, and eager is her clasp. 

O'er added riches falling in her grasp — 

On gold, gold, gold, her energies must feed; 

But gold has failed to satisfy her greed. 

Her riches, like some vouth-immortal tree 



[93] 



Grow up — she perishes in poverty. 

She delves in Wisdom's boundless, peopled realm, 

Resplendent hopes, her youthful sense o'erwhelm, 

With living beings, do her thoughts converse, 

Who throng the romance of the universe. 

She treads, a victor, through each starry host, 

And sails the cloud-locked seas from coast to coast ; 

On the ignoble earth, her mind reflects. 

And finds new food in Time's long-buried wrecks. 

She culls the simplest blossom from the stalk 

And finds it grander than the greatest rock. 

She muses on the human frame, divine. 

And cries : "O man, what architect is thine ? " 

And marvels that one dares to desecrate 

The temple that he never could create. 

Through the rich realm of knowledge, on she speeds 

Nor stops to question where her pathway leads. 

Jungles of thought, she struggles bravely through, 

Emerges, but to plunge into a new; 

Hungering still for knowledge, as at first. 

While each fresh draught does but increase her thirst, 

Starving for higher, loftier, grander themes ; 

No climax glitters in her loftiest dreams. 

She grasps her pen, her glittering pen of gold 

Set with its diamonds, bright, a thousand-fold : 

Truth, deathless truth, would she write down for men. 

Sprinkled with beauty, from her glowing pen. 

The years have brought their bitter and their sweet, 

Nations have cast their laurels at her feet, 

Her name is written on Fame's rising-stars. 

But, to and fro, behind its prison bars 



[94] 



Like a caged bird, each fluttering impulse flies, 
In hopeless hope to pierce the farthest skies; 
Beating their very lives out in their round 
And falling, helpless, hopeless, to the ground. 
Like a sharp dagger, in her fluttering heart, 
Is her bright pen, so glorious at the start; 
When sweet success, so lavish in the past, 
Crowns not each effort, brighter than the last. 
She sweeps the canvas, and fair forms are there, 
Instinct with life, they seem, in vital air; 
Sweet roses bloom and feathered songsters sing 
And ivy garlands to old ruins cling. 
Ships (angel pinioned) ride the dark blue waves 
Or dash in lonesome wrecks above their graves ; 
And beings live, immortal as her art, 
To touch the well-springs of the human heart. 
She casts her brush aside, her grief to quell. 
Where is the magic of that secret spell ? 
What! are success's dreams so quickly o'er 
When each is not more glorious than before? 
She strings her viol to the western breeze ; 
She presses, joyfully, the ivory keys: 
And waves roll in upon the sandy beach. 
Her dreams suggest such notes she cannot reach. 
Beyond her grasp, they roll and rise and surge 
And break on imagery's farthest verge ; 
She hangs her harp upon the willows, then. 
And sighs that naught can be, but what has been. 
She lifts her voice in pure and soulful song. 
She steals some notes that to the birds belong. 
But voice, divine and human, like a link 
'Twixt earth and Heaven, yet to earth must sink. 



[95 



Daughters of music, this your knell of woe. 

Wafted to Heaven, then to earth brought low. 

Ambition, what can now thy longing bless 

When all thy powers are lost in feebleness? 

She sways the mortal mind with golden speech, 

Her words are jeweled vessels, launched to reach 

The farthest shore that reason can command, 

And bring back precious cargoes to her hand. 

Unsatisfied, Ambition's dreams eclipse 

The deepest waters where her bright oar dips. 

Each effort's climax is the throne from whence 

She mourns the fall of human excellence. 

She gazes out, with clear prophetic eye 

On avenues, that plain before her lie. 

She reads the longings of her throbbing heart. 

She sees the vanity of human art. 

Whose glittering future, howsoe'er sublime 

Is prisoned by the narrow walls of Time ; 

Whose triumphs are but mockeries, at last, 

Like faded, withered garlands of the past. 

She sees the devotee of fame and pride 

Turn from her brightest crown, unsatisfied. 

She sees the conqueror at last deplore 

The glories of his final victory o'er; 

And all, yes, all, of fleeting Time's success. 

Sinks down to failure and to nothingness; 

When o'er their sunset hath no glad hope dawned 

To whisper of a brighter day beyond : 

She turns away from Time's decaying things 

And casts her crown before the King of Kings; 

Her riches, honor, glory, power, and might. 

She lays them down with all their earthly blight: 



[96 



He rends for her Time's heavy curtain through, 

Eternity lies bright before her view; 

As a small inlet of the ocean's shore 

Seems the great future, she beheld before 

Like stormless, boundless seas before her roll 

Through Him, her leader, more than conqueror; 

Treasures, unfading, glitter now for her, 

Her feet may pace this lonely planet round 

But still the universe lies bright beyond. 

Her mind may grasp earth's knowledge, but before. 

Wisdom reserves a deeper, loftier lore, 

Exhaustless as the ocean's full supply 

Of freshening moisture, unto earth and sky, 

Glad rays of light upon her path descend. 

Ambition grasps her never-ending end ; 

Changes a narrow cell with bolted door, 

For glory unto glory, evermore. 



[97] 



TRUE NOBILITY. 

Some souls ascend like incense ever burning 
In golden censers classed with common clay, 

Soaring to sunlit heights sweet lessons learning, 
No frowning cloud their viewless wings can stay. 

They tune their harps to nature's varied story, 
Vibrating all the tender hidden strings ; 

They deem the clouds below but transitory 
And join the happy song the skylark sings. 

What though their hands may toil with strong endeavor 

At tasks unworthy of a noble mind, 
Oft stony pathways lead to heights that never 

Would welcome us were these not left behind. 

The pure air of the mountains seemeth clearer 
Because of the dense fogs that lie below, 

So disappointments bear the spirit nearer 

To measure out the things that it should know. 

Did no cloud mar our skies' serenest beauty, 
No blasts of sorrow hush our sweetest song; 

We might not care to find our highest duty 
Nor prize the good beyond the sway of wrong. 

We might forget the possible awaiting 
For those who by an ever-onward flight 

Reach the sublime of mind and soul creating 
Beyond the fogs, beyond the clouds of night. 

We might not look above the present pleasure 
Were bluest skies and sunbeams ever ours. 

We might not seek to find a purer treasure 

Were all our sunlit pathways strewn with flowers. 

[98] 



Some never rise to heights of thought and feehng 

But in the stagnant air below abide, 
Impenetrable clouds arise concealing 

The purity they to themselves denied. 

Living Hke beasts, no higher thought possessing 

Than base iniquity or selfish gain. 
No wish for good in all their lives expressing, 

Ah ! who can say they do not live in vain ? 

What though they move among the higher classes 
In social life and live in splendid state, 

Not always he, who most of wealth amasses, 
When measured mind and soul, is truly great. 

But they who live above earth's vile pollution 

Whose outward things are not their greatest worth, 

Whether in public life or home seclusion, 
These are the true nobility of earth. 

Whether the gentle hand that rocks the cradle, 
Or that that sways the mighty powers of state, 

Ennobling virtue shall alone be able 
To make the dens of evil desolate. 

Virtue toils on, above the clouds impending. 

To heights all sparkling in the sunlight's glow; 

Up, onward, to a purer air ascending. 

Leaving the crowd submerged in fogs below. 



[99] 



LINES TO A MAIDEN. 

Be not vain, oh, beautiful maiden ! 

Though thine eyes shine like violets blue, 
Though thy lips are as rosebuds from Eden 

And thy curls vie with sunbeams in hue. 

Remember that violets will wither. 
That rosebuds will fade and decay; 

For beauty cannot last forever, 

'Twill fade with the sunbeams away. 

Is there time for false pride and vain pleasure. 
Is there time in this life's little day, 

When the few golden hours that we treasure 
Are silently slipping away? 

When hearts that were happy at dawning. 
Ere evening are shrouded in gloom ; 

When all the fresh dewdrops of morning 
Have passed from our sight ere 'tis noon? 

Life is not, sweet maiden, all beauty. 
Nor is it a bright, gilded dream; 

We all have a life-work, a duty. 

And earth's things are more than they seem. 

We may think that the days that have vanished 

Forever have passed and are o'er, 
But the golden grain has not been garnered. 
The harvest time lieth before. 



[lOO] 



Our lives, they are not a mere story, 
Our labor will not be in vain, 

But bathed in a sunlight of glory 
These lost hours will blossom again. 

Be good and do good, Time may rob thee 
Of beauty ere many years roll; 

But eternity cannot destroy 
A beautiful immortal soul. 



[lOl] 



THE LANGUAGE OF THE STARS. 

Ye brilliant orbs that deck the sky, 
Shrouded in deepest mystery, 

To thee my song I sing! 
I long to know of what thou art, 
Of this great universe a part, 
I feel thy glory in my heart 

While to the earth I cling ! 

I long to traverse thy bright spheres, 
To stand above the flight of years 

Remembering earth's dark sod; 
The terrors of the world defy 
And tread the palace of the sky, 
Singing of immortality, 

And tell the world of God ! 

How wondrous is thy silent speech! 
Unto my soul thy knowledge teach 

And tell me more of One, 
Who formed thy glittering, gilded gems, 
Who framed thy starry diadems. 
Who all the golden glory blends 

Of the resplendent sun ! 

What numerous questions to me rise 
Whene'er I view the dazzling skies 

Or muse on heaven's dome ! 
O distant worlds, so far, so near. 
What beings breathe thy upper air 
And live within thine atmosphere. 

And make thy realms their homes ! 



[ I02 



Tell me thou glittering evening star, 
Tinting the western sky afar, 

On heaven's blue curtain traced; 
Hast thou green fields and nodding flowers. 
Rivers and hills and city towers? 
Art thou a living world like ours 

Or but a barren waste? 

Mysterious questions, answered not. 
With deepest meaning ever fraught, 

Flooding this life below, 
When rolling years no more shall be. 
When man shall find his destiny, 
When time unveils eternity; 

Perhaps, we then shall know. 

The gracious Ruler over all 

Who formed this changing earthly ball 

And spake a world from naught. 
All of thy gems so rich and rare. 
All of thy glories, dazzling fair. 
With wondrous skill and loving care. 

With His own hand hath wrought. 

Earth, all thy myriad voices raise 
To sing of all God's wondrous ways 

'Till heaven's high arches ring. 
Lo, from the clouds Thy voice is heard. 
The mountains tremble at Thy word. 
The heavens declare Thy glory. Lord; 

The stars Thy praises sing! 



[103] 



ALONE 

Think'st thou the criminal in some dark retreat 

To which from lowering justice he hath flown, 

While die the echoes of pursuing feet, 

Is left in peace, alone? 

Think'st thou that undisturbed he stops to rest. 

Forgetting the dark crime that lies behind? 

Think'st thou that naught but triumph fills his breast, 

That no iron bands his sense of freedom bind? 

Not so; for though within a lone abode 

His wicked heart of victory may boast, 

The fears that crush his spirit like a load 

Are far more frightful than a martialed host. 

Stronger than chains that bind the helpless slave 

Are the iron fetters of the imprisoned soul, 

More horrible the boughs that o'er him wave 

Than funeral knells that for the just man toll ; 

Darkness more dense than that of starless night 

Falls like a sable curtain o'er his mind, 

And o'er that darkness, dawns no morning light ; 

Who would in such a frame a refuge find? 

A silence, like the stillness of the grave 

Hangs o'er the beauty of the forest shrine 

And chills the trembling coward, where the brave 

Would notice but a solitude sublime. 

A crackling in the underbrush — he starts — 

'Tis but a fawn that seeks the grassy glade — 

A rustle — through the trees a grey squirrel darts ; 

He jumps, and rises to his feet dismayed. 

Each simple sound breaks on his guilty ear 

Like some dread omen of a coming doom. 

What wonder, in each rustle he can hear 

The outward echo of an inward gloom; 

And in the guilty horror of despair 

Fears that the day might bring his deeds to light 

And thinks to hide the blackened robes they wear 

[ 104] 



Under the sable covering- of the night. 

And hopes in vain; for lo, before him stands, 

A Judge, more awful than the one he fears ; 

The laws of justice written on his hands, 

Laws that shall stand unchanged to endless years, 

Not as a Saviour to the abandoned wretch 

Who sinks in terror to the speaking sod. 

Not with the angel Mercy's wings outstretched; 

But as the just, unchanged, avenging God. 

"Jehovah," sing the stars, the hills repeat. 

The rocks and forest trees the chorus share, 

Jehovah is the awfulness complete; 

"Jehovah," trembles on the burdened air. 

Memory awakes, can Memory ever die? 

Long she has slept, but now her life revives. 

And terrified, afraid to reason: "Why?" 

Vainly to hush her voice the villain strives. 

Vainly ? Ah ! What a book of wasted years she holds, 

What records to defile the peaceful sod. 

What scenes, what deeds of darkness she unfolds ! 

O man ! and thou, the noblest work of God ! 

Fallen, lost, ruined, by thine own consent, 

A demon crowd, thy fit companions, they, 

On thy destruction all their arts intent. 

Well mayst thou flee by night and hide by day. 

Alone ! fain would the villain be alone. 

His Maker, no more trouble his abode, 

His memory, like the vanished moments flown. 

His conscience, buried with its fearful load. 

Ah ! vain his wish, though ocean wastes be crossed. 

Or lie concealed within the forest's gloom. 

The crimes that marked the years, now worse than lost, 

Will haunt him too, ah ! far beyond the tomb. 

Who would escape the presence of his God, 

Flee to the desert? Lo, His throne is there 

Whithersoever human feet have trod 

The Lord, Jehovah, reigneth everywhere. 

[105] 



How slow the dragging moments seem to glide 
To the transgressor in his living grave. 
Ah ! words unutterable cannot describe 
The dread companions of the culprit's cave! 

Think'st thou, the Christian on the lonely isle, 

Banished from every tie of heart or home 

Far from a friendly word or loving smile, 

Is hopeless and alone ? 

No; though he mourns that human love no more 

May soothe the lonely pathway he must tread. 

And when the weary journey shall be o'er 

No loved one comes to soothe his dying bed ; 

Yet in his soul a calm and perfect peace, 

Deep as the ocean, fathomless as thought 

Commands the fury of the tempest cease 

And bids the lonely wanderer murmur not. 

'Tis evening, from the Eastern star there shines 

A radiance, unnoticed there before; 

While the blue wavelets, traced in beauteous lines. 

In a new grandeur break upon the shore ; 

He listens to the breaker's ceaseless moan. 

They wake to being, voices of the past, 

Memory is there, with scenes of friends and home, 

Like leaves upon the eddying current cast. 

He fathoms the sublimity of time, 

He views the emblem of life's troubled sea. 

Breaker and crag in unity divine, 

Sing to his soul a sweeter melody; 

And as he keeps his vigil there alone 

He feels the living presence of a friend, 

Holier than friendship's voice that loving tone, 

"Lo, I am with thee, even to the end." 

He lifts his voice; hushed is the balmy air 

A benediction rests on Nature's things. 

Angelic beings breathe their notes of prayer, 

And wait in silence while the Christian sings : 

[io6] 



"Jesus, the sweetest name on mortal tongue." 

Listen, ye lonely rocks, ye waves rejoice, 

"Jesus," by countless hosts of angels sung, 

Awake, lone ocean isle, and lend a voice! 

Hark ! from surrounding cliffs a chorus rises : 

"Jesus, to thee be praise and glory given." 

Angels repeat it through the vaulted skies 

And bear the unfinished anthem on to heaven ; 

Weary, he lays him down in peace to sleep 

And pleasant dreams his stony pillow calm. 

Bright guardian angels, vigil o'er him keep 

And breathe upon the air a solemn psalm. 

Away on other shores for him they mourn 

Friends, who are shrouded in funereal gloom 

Dark are the robes of sorrow for him worn 

As one who sleeps within a watery tomb ; 

But oh ! the bright companions 'round him now 

Are dearer than when other friends were there. 

Brighter the crowns upon each pearly brow, 

More glorified the saintly robes they wear. 

Ah ! not alone the Christian vigil kept 

On the lone isle, and faced his fears unawed ; 

When guardian angels watched him while he slept 

And One was with him like the Son of God. 



[107 



ON THE EVENING TRAIN 

Night after night, week after week, month after month and 

year after year, 
Clad in her garments of dingy black, ragged and wrinkled, she's 

waiting here 
Watching the passenger trains come in, silent and sad in the 

self same place. 
Anxiously viewing the careless crowd, eagerly scanning each 

stranger face. 

Never a word she speaks as she waits patiently every night for 

the train, 
Sadly and silently turning away, over and over again ; 
Children have grown to be women and men since the first 

evening she waited there. 
Close by the station, silently, with that eager vacant stare. 

Ah ! that was thirty years ago, where she looked for three or 

four engines then 
She watches, unnoting the flight of time, a score of trains come 

in; 
And the city has grown to twice its size, yet faithful still at her 

post she stands 
Grasping her old worn traveling bag tight in her wrinkled 

hands. 

The station employees scarcely heed the thin bent figure and 

anxious face. 
They have seen her there 'till she seems to them almost like a 

part of the place; 



[io8] 



If any of them, as they pass her by, kindly warn her of coming 

snow or rain. 
She only says, with a faint sad smile — 
"He promised to come on the evening train." 

When the lights are extinguished, the crowd dispersed, wearily 

she will walk away 
Only to come to her lonely post with a feebler step next day ; 
Whom is she looking for? you ask. 
Perhaps it is not worth the telling o'er 
The same old story I know you've heard many a time before. 

He was her sailor lover and she, courted by many, young and 

fair 
With rosy cheeks and graceful form and sunshiny golden hair; 
She stood that day where she's standing now, watching the train 

'till it passed from view. 
Never doubting but he would prove faithful to death and true; 

He had gone on a voyage across the sea promising to return in 

the Spring 
When, with the chime of the early year, their bridal bells would 

ring; 
But the Spring flowers bloomed and the blithe birds sang and she 

waited and waited in vain 
For her sailor lover never returned and no message came to 

explain. 

Whether he met with disaster or death, or proved to his promise 

false and untrue 
No one can prove or even guess, for nobody ever knew ; 



[109] 



Wild with anxiety, worn with grief, disease had found her an 

easy prey, 
FHckering between Hfe and death for many a week she lay. 

And when she rose from her weary couch, restored to life and 

health again, 
This one thought throbbed in her vacant mind: "He promised 

to come on the evening train." 
So down to the station she daily walks, standing alone at the 

corner there. 
Closely scanning each stranger face with that eager, vacant 

stare. 

She sees friends meet when the trains come in, with clasping of 

hands, with smiles and tears 
And fond embraces she often sees, and lovers' greetings she often 

hears ; 
But the face that she looks for among the throng will never 

gladden her sight again, 
Poor faithful heart, you will soon forget the broken vow of the 

evening train. 



[no] 



LOVE'S COUNTERFEITS 

There's no invention underneath the sun 

So basely counterfeited, 
Its similes since first the world begun 

Have half the race outwitted; 
Like spurious coins in form and color true 

Put into circulation, 
These counterfeits are passing bright and new 

Exact in imitation. 

True love is like a coin, changeless and pure, 

Bright from the mint of virtuous affection. 
Whose solid worth lies in its gold secure 

Stamped with the soul's reflection; 
Though Time may mar with rude and hasty hands 

Its brilliancy and beauty. 
Its gold unspoiled beneath the surface stands 

Alloyed with common duty. 

False love is like the counterfeiter's coin, 

A criminal deception. 
Although a while its face like gold may shine 

To close inspection. 
Not long it needs the wear that must ensue 

Its character to settle. 
Its gilt departs and leaves exposed to view 

Its worthless metal. 

He who treads stealthily his secret dens 

Of fraud and knavery dreaming, 
For his own selfish, vicious, lawless ends 

Another's ruin scheming. 
He is the type, yet nobler is his art 

Than his who makes to glitter 
Base metal for the pure gold of the heart, 

— Love's counterfeiter. 

[Ill] 



THE THIEF 

The sweet wild roses told, told me 
While the south wind sobbed in answering grief, 
As they clutched with their wary thorns to hold me, 
With trembling pink lips they told me, told me, 
And the wild birds chanted — "A thief, a thief ! " 

He came from the streets of a sunset city 
Where his name was held in high esteem, 
But alas ! alas ! 'tis the world's great pity 
That people are not always what they seem. 

She was as rich in nature's beauty 

As the sweet wild roses she loved to hold, 

Timidly locked in the safe of duty 

Lay her heart's rich treasure, her love's pure gold. 

Alas ! alas ! the unguarded minute 
When the wild rose maiden crossed his track. 
When he spied her treasure and sought to win it, 
The thief, who had nothing to give her back. 

Did he take her honor, her gems, her money? 
No, none of these. Is it nothing worth 
That he blighted her youth's bright Eden sunny 
And left for her future a dead cold earth? 

And what to him was his boasted treasure? 
So small the triumph in truth appears — 
To feed his pride for a few hours' pleasure 
On the happiness of a life's long years. 



[112] 



Is it nothing to walk with a heart that's broken 
Through days that grow longer than happy years ? 
O the worth of earth's gold may be spoken, spoken 
But the worth of the heart is not told in tears ! 

And what would men say if they knew it, knew it? 
"They would say to his hurt, his hurt, his hurt," 
Sang the birds and the roses, the brook trilled through it 
"O men would say, 'He's a flirt, a flirt.' " 

But God looks down on that sunset city 
(The God of nature, of joy and grief) 
On the broken bird with a father's pity 
And God knows his earth has no baser thief. 



[113] 



CHRISTMAS HYMN 

We bring no rich gifts like the wise men of old; 
No myrrh and frankincense, no silver and gold; 
No glittering treasures afar do we bring 
To lay at the feet of our glorious King. 

The songs the glad shepherds heard ages ago 
Have melted away like the flakes of the snow ; 
The costly gifts glittered to molder and rust; 
The Bethlehem manger has crumbled to dust. 

His voice like the breath of the lilies so fair 
Has floated away on the wings of the air ; 
And the places He trod, whether pathway or street, 
Are hallowed no more by the prints of His feet. 

We bring no rich gifts like the wise men of old ; 
No myrrh and frankincense, no silver and gold; 
We go not to worship o'er Judea's plain 
The King who was born through all ages to reign. 

For reigning in heavenly glory arrayed, 
He wants not earth's gifts, that but glitter to fade 
Her gold would be dim by those pavements so fair; 
Her incense a cloud in that glorified air. 

But dearer the hearts full of love that we bring, 
And sweeter our prayers to our glorious King, 
Than all the rich gifts that they brought Him of old 
Than myrrh and frankincense, than silver and gold. 



[114 



And the throne where He reigneth shall never decay, 
Though the heavens and earth shall have vanished away ; 
And the hearts that we bring in His temple shall shine, 
When melted, like all the bright gold of the mine. 

So, we bring no gifts like the wise men of old; 
No myrrh and frankincense, no silver and gold, 
And go not to worship o'er Judea's plain 
The King now enthroned in a heavenly fane. 



[115] 



"CONSIDER THE LILIES" 

"Consider the lilies," they toil not nor spin 
Nor lose their fresh sweetness in striving to win 

The raiment they wear; 
Yet Solomon clad in his glory complete 
With the lilies so perfect, so pure and so sweet, 
That sprang up to blossom and fade at his feet, 

Could never compare. 

"Consider the lilies," in each bud concealed 
Lies a wonderful lesson in beauty revealed 

Of trust and content ; 
Behold how they bloom in the fresh sunny air 
Without thought of complaint, without murmur of care, 
For the Lord has provided the raiment they wear 

'Till their short lives are spent. 

"Consider the lilies," how soon their sweet breath 
Is scattered and lost and they molder in death 

In the soil where they grew ; 
Yet from the green turf where their fair forms are laid 
From the dew-sprinkled sod where they wither and fade 
They shall spring in new verdure and freshness arrayed 

To blossom anew. 

"Consider the lilies," shall He who bestows 
Such care on a flower that a little while grows 
Then yields to its fate. 



[ii6 



Neglect for His children their wants to provide 
With whom He has promised to ever abide. 
And their forms from the turf where they fade side by side 
Anew to create? 

"Consider the HHes," behold how they grow! 
Arrayed in such glory as none could bestow 

But an infinite God; 
And back to the garden of Gethsemane 
And the lily-wreathed waters of deep Galilee 
They carry us surely as streams to the sea 

To the paths that He trod. 



[117] 



SADNESS AND MIRTH 

At a beautiful starry gateway- 
Two sister-spirits met, 
And paused to talk of the country 
To which they both were sent; 
One wore a robe of sunbeams of gold 
Buttoned with sparkling stars, 
Her bright eyes were filled with merriment 
As she stood by the crystal bars. 
In one hand she held a basket 
Filled with roses, ruby red. 
And a smile of rare sweet beauty 
Played over her face as she said: 
"Sweet sister, in that far, distant land 
We will both have our part to play ; 
Let us journey together, hand in hand, 
Down the beautiful milky way ; 
For I, over many a cheerless path 
Must scatter my roses red, 

And you must strew thorns o'er the long, long road 
That all of mankind must tread. 
And I must bring the world gladness 
And give to it Love's sweet wine; 
But you must teach the world sadness 
And mingle your cup with mine. 
And I must give to the reapers 
A harvest of song to reap, 
I must teach them to smile and laugh 
But you must teach them to weep." 
As she spoke, she shook her silken curls 
And opened the starry gate 
"Come, sweet sister, come, hasten !" she said 
"For our mission cannot wait !" 
The other stood with her head bowed down 
And her face was so sad and pale. 
And down o'er her shadowy, cloudy robe 

[ii8] 



Fell a beautiful, misty veil; 

In one hand she held a basket of thorns, 

In the other a mystical cup. 

And she sighed, and she sadly shook her head 

As she Hfted her dark eyes up: 

"I will go," she said, "but your cup is sweet 

While mine is bitter to taste." 

And gently within the jeweled hand 

Her own tiny hand she placed; 

And they moved away in the gray twilight, 

By evening breezes fanned, 

And sought for the world to which they were sent. 

Two sisters, hand in hand. 

They traversed life's pathways, year after year, 

With a soft and noiseless tread. 

One strewing her thorns all along the way 

And the other her roses red. 

They dwelt ofttimes with the great and high 

An-d oft with the poor and the low, 

And mingled with giddy revelry. 

And with scenes of sorrow and woe ; 

And the infant's soft, peaceful slumbers 

Were broken with smiles and tears; 

The maiden trembled to see beyond 

A mirage of hopes and fears ; 

And the matron marveled that roses and thorns 

All life's winding pathway line; 

And the aged sighed that the bitter and sweet 

Were mixed in life's mingled wine ; 

And so they mused o'er their daily paths 

The aged, and the young, and fair. 

And theirs was only life's common lot, 

A portion that all must share. 



[119] 



THE TOMB OF MAN 

What is your pageantry, O earth! 

And what your wealth, O sea! 
What is your grandeur, spangled heavens, 

Upheld in majesty? 

Resplendent jewels flash and gleam 
On earth's triumphant breast, 

But midst her brightest galaxies 
Man goeth to his rest. 

Down in the depths, the coral reefs 
Shine through the glistening wave; 

But midst the gardens of the deep 
The mortal makes his grave. 

Yon heavens in seas of azure lie, 

And continents of cloud, 
They wrap our frail humanity 

In one vast burial shroud. 

Beauty and glory vie to claim 
Earth's fruitage and her bloom, 

To wreathe in posthumous designs 
The universal tomb. 

They gather up the sea's rare pearls 
And strew them o'er her bed. 

They chant with all her troubled waves 
The dirges of her dead. 



[120] 



They visit on their starry wings 
The heaven's celestial spheres, 

And from the precincts of the clouds 
They shed the mourner's tears. 

Yet shall earth see her treasures raised 
From out her moldering sod, 

Yet shall the sea behold her waves 
Yield up their spoil to God. 

Yet shall )'on heavens, now looking down 

On mortal blight and ban, 
See immortality come forth 

From the great tomb of man. 



[121] 



lONE VALLEY 

Bright rainbow hues, that paint the scene, 

Where childish eyes first gaze, 

Though mists of time may intervene 

To dim your brightest rays ; 

Yet through those mists, bright sunbeams shine. 

That long ago have shone. 

Thy memories are forever mine, 

Fair Valley of lone. 

Thy flowers, like benedictions sweet, 

In fields of fancy grow; 

As once they nodded at my feet 

In that fair long ago; 

And still imagination strays 

Through grain-fields, zephyr-blown; 

As in thy Summer's golden days. 

Fair Valley of lone. 

Thy roses, wet with nature's tears, 
Round memory's urn are twined ; 
They strew the pathway of the years, 
The cloisters of the mind. 
Their velvet petals, crimson red. 
Lie strewn by fancy thrown; 
Where thoughts of thee are wont to tread, 
Fair Valley of lone. 



[ 122 



From censers, wrought of sunbeam gold, 

Thy Hlac's incense burn; 

And apple-blossoms sweet unfold, 

Round memory's golden urn; 

And happy birds and honey bees. 

Still chant in joyous tone; 

Among the vines and locust trees, 

Fair Valley of lone. 

Thy purple clustering grapes are bright 
With never fading dyes. 
Thy cherries, steeped in yellow light. 
To match thy sunset skies; 
And russet pears and apricots 
To blushing ripeness grown; 
Brightened thy shady orchard plots. 
Fair Valley of lone. 

But like the mildew on the rose, 
A blight forever there, 
Thy charms of rosy bloom, unclose 
To miasmatic air; 



[123] 



Yet we, who for the rose of health 
To other cHmes have flown ; 
May sing of all thy golden wealth, 
Fair Valley of lone. 

The wire-bridge, stretched from bank to bank 

Across the brimming creek; 

The hill, with wild-flowers growing rank 

The childish hands to pick ; 

The goats that clambered up the rock. 

Rich meadows newly-mown; 

And Fido, barking down the walk, 

Are scenes of thine, lone. 

Ye foothills of Sierra's Range, 

Green be your sunny slopes! 

Ye fertile fields, where never change 

In recollection gropes; 

Ye banks and rocks and fences old, 

With moses overgrown; 

Of sunbeams be your settings, gold, 

Fair Valley of lone. 



[124 



Could I but wander to and fro 

'Midst fairest scenes to roam, 

I'd take the wings of morn and go 

To childhood's valley home. 

The bird, with freedom in its breast, 

Though lured from zone to zone; 

Returns to find its earliest nest, 

Fair Valley of lone. 



[125] 



THE LEGEND OF LOVER'S LEAP 

Where the narrow grade winds up and down 
And the stage rattles past to the distant town, 
Where the torrent pours down the cafion wild, 
Where the rocks in shapeless walls are piled. 
Where the speckled trout o'er the ripples play 
And the grasses droop to the cascade's spray. 
Where the wild deer pauses at eve to drink 
And leaves his tracks on the mossy brink. 
High over the stream towers a rock-hewn steep 
That is known by the name of "Lover's Leap." 

'Tis an Indian legend of storied fame 

That gave to the stern old rock its name, 

A legend of love and jealous hate, 

Of a dusky maiden desolate. 

Her swarthy lover a truant gone 

With a dark-browed rival, and following on 

With a fierce, wild look in her midnight eyes 

On, on, through the forest gloom she flies 

Over fallen logs, o'er hill and dell, 

Thick with manzanita and chaparral, 

'Till at last she stops where the waters sweep 

'Round the ragged turrets of Lover's Leap. 

But why does she turn from the torrent's edge 
With one startled glance from ledge to ledge 
Ere she bounds away like a frightened fawn 
With her raven hair on the breezes blown? 
She knows where the path leads up the height 
And thither she takes her breathless flight ; 
Higher and higher her light feet bound 
'Till the shadowy forest is left behind. 



[126 




Squaw Rock, or Lover's Leap, near Cloverdale, Cal 



With a heart of stone and an eye of fire 
Possessed with one wild, one fierce desire 
That they her reckless revenge may reap 
Where they rest at the foot of Lover's Leap. 

She has reached the end of her journey now 

And stands alone on the mountain's brow. 

Far over the rocks she stoops to lean 

What, what has the Indian maiden seen? 

For she tears a stone from a broken rift 

As large as her swarthy arms can lift, 

And stands transfixed on the very edge 

Gazing wildly down on the rocky gorge 

Where four hundred feet from the mountain's crest 

Her lover and rival have paused to rest ; 

A crash, a cry, a heavy thud — 

And the spot is vacant where she stood 

And the three lie there in a mangled heap 

On the rocks at the foot of Lover's Leap. 

Thus the tragic tale of the rock is told 

And its romance envelopes the mountain old 

And the travelers passing by each day 

Look up at the turrets grim and gray 

And repeat the tradition whose early fame 

Gave the stern old rock its romantic name, 

And the grasses fall o'er the rocks below 

And gracefully sweep the river's flow. 

And the hill-slopes are speckled with grazing flocks, 

And the buzzard hovers above the rocks, 

And the rock-plants cling and the mosses creep 

O'er the storm-scarred ledges of Lover's Leap. 



[127] 



THE CHAMBERS OF IMAGERY 
(Ezekiel 8:12.) 

In the chambers of imagery the aged prophet stood, 
And gazed upon the things unseen save by the eye of God. 
From vision unto vision by the guiding Spirit led 
He had looked on living beings that to all the world were dead ; 
He had listened to their voices, he had heard the gathering sound 
Of their wings, whose mighty rushing filled the heavenly courts 
around. 

And the voice of God had spoken hidden secrets to his ear, 
While the heavens ablaze with jewels filled his soul with joy 

and fear. 
Then from out the amber brightness the old prophet's soul was 

swept 
To the dark and hidden chambers where the thoughts of men 

are kept. 

In the chambers of imagery the aged prophet gropes — 

Where are all his jeweled visions? Where are now his rainbow 

hopes ? 
Standing in the dark and dampness of those light-forsaken halls, 
See him scan the forms ignoble pictured on the silent walls; 
Forms of low and creeping reptiles that are hiding from the 

light- 
Forms of beasts that crouch in cruel expectation of the night; 
While without, the stars are gemming regal nature's azure crown. 

Here are forms of soulless idols, where the souls of men bow 

down, 
And the prophet hears, while standing in the dark more dense 

than night. 
Voices whispering, "These are hidden from the Lord of life and 

light." 



[128 



In the chambers of imagery, oh, the low and crawHng things ! 
Here no ray of light can enter, here is heard no noise of wings; 
Thoughts that hide like loathsome reptiles from the glory of the 

sun — 
Unchained, beastly, cruel passions, living, breathing, every one; 
And the things man stoops to worship, while his Maker is forgot, 
Saying, "The Lord hath forsaken all the earth ; he seeth not." 
Fallen, lost, deluded, ruined, glorying in the dark and dearth, 
Thinkest thou thy thoughts are hidden from the Lord of all the 

earth ? 

Open the chambers of imagery, each window toward the east ; 
Cast out the cruel reptile, drive forth the cruel beast. 
Strike down the molten idol, hiding no sin from view ; 
Cry to the holy Artist, "Come and make all things new." 
Then touched by the heavenly Master, the picture shall grow 

more fair — 
The trees of the Lord's own planting, the birds of His upper air — 
The stars that sing His praises on the darkest night shall shine 
And the wall shall be all glorious, touched by His hand divine. 
Then in all the beautiful pictures, no ravenous beast shall be, 
And the glory of God shall lighten "the chambers of imagery." 



[129] 



CALIFORNIA POPPIES 

Somewhere in childhood's golden fields 
Gay poppies with the sunbeams blend, 
Maturer fancy scarce reveals 

As wandering through their acre beds, 

The sunbeams shining on their heads, 
I glean my golden sheaf. 
No Ruth a richer sheaf could glean, 
Nor Ceres, though the harvest's queen, 

I pass their trophies by; 
And fill my hands with dazzling showers 
Of silken petaled trembling flowers 

And think they reasoned well 
Who for our State's bright emblem chose 
The flower that scorns no dreary spot 
But brightens like a sunny thought 
Each gray fence corner where it grows, 
And mingling with the sunshine fills 
Bright valleys nestling in their hills, 

Or stars the ocean's shore; 
And to our proud State's farthest bound 
The little wanderers are found 

Like glints of golden ore, 
Set in their native ground. 
Artists perpetuate its flaming hues. 
Writers immortalize it in your muse, 
To thee, oh golden State, it shall belong 
The chosen favorite of thy scene and song! 



[130 



THE BROKEN WING 

He was bound in a sheaf of golden wheat, 
The baby lark, and a broken wing 
Hung limp at his side, and in pitying grief 
I clasped to my bosom the fluttering thing 
The baby lark, with the broken wing. 

Now garnered in, is the golden wheat. 
And lost in the stubble the little nest 
Where my bird first opened his baby beak, 
While the sunshine painted his yellow breast, 
And I sit, and listen to hear him sing; 
The meadow lark, with the broken wing. 

A few blithe notes, so clear, so high. 

They were born for the meadow, the field, the fky ; 

They are full of the joy of ecstatic wings 

And I listen, listen, for sadder things ; 

But jnot a cadence I hear of grief. 

No minor strain of that cruel sheaf. 

Ah ! thus will I tune my life, my lark. 
Forgetting that some days are cold and dark. 
Forgetting my heart's more cruel grief 
Than thy broken wing, or thy snaring sheaf; 
I will turn to the shadow my broken wing, 
I will sit in the sunlight and sing and sing. 



^31] 



BANJO JIM 

Old Banjo Jim is the name of him 

Of whom I have to write, 
As he walks with his load, 'long a country road, 

He is almost always tight ; 

But wherever he goes, with his weal and woes 

His banjo always shares, 
'Tis as much a scrap of the poor old chap 

As the battered hat he wears. 

He is old and scarred, he is maimed and marred 

And his banjo is the same, 
'Tis a part of himself never laid on the shelf 

And a part of his poor old name. 

He will curse and swear, 'till the very air 

With his wicked words is blue. 
Or sit on a pile of rails, with a smile, 

And play a tune for you. 

He is always tight, but don't take a fright 

He's harmless, the neighbors say. 
And when he sv/ears, 'tis a part of his airs 

As much as it is to play ; 

Still I pity him, poor Old Banjo Jim, 

Whenever I see him go 
With his rags and sin, with his tags and gin. 

Holding tight to his old banjo. 

Of all beauty bereft, there must yet be left 

In his hard old soul a string 
That is plastic still, to feel and thrill 

At the sound of a lovely thing. 

[132] 



But who comes here with a look of fear 

And a message of alarm? 
A man found dead by the road 'tis said 

With a banjo under his arm. 

"Got drunk," they say, and lost his way 

And stumbled into the ditch, 
Who sold him the stuff, that was poison enough, 

Was it murder or accident? Which? 

And does no one care, that he's lying there 

With a look so fixed and wild? 
O friends, do you know, that years ago 

He was somebody's little child! 

Then lay him low, where we all shall go 

Beggar and king, as well. 
With his banjo pressed to his lifeless breast 

As together they fought and fell. 

From my window pane, I can hear the rain 

On an old tin roof below. 
And I lean to hear, for it sounds so queer, 

Like the ghost of that old banjo. 

And I wonder then, what he might have been 

If some things were not, that are; 
Ah! guilty saloon, 'neath the silent moon 

There are crimes you shall answer for! 



[133 



RESURRECTION 

I took a tiny pansy seed 

And laid it in the mold 
Then waited patiently to see 

The first green leaves unfold. 
Time passed and from the silent sod 

There came no living sound 
But soon the little embryo 

Appeared abov«i the ground, 
It grew in pride and beauty 

Kissed by sunbeams, washed by showers, 
'Till Summer came and robed it 

In a wealth of snowy flowers ; 
And now, as if in thankfulness 

For life and beauty given. 
My pure, sweet, waxen pansies lift 

Their purple eyes to heaven. 

I took the silent chrysalis 

So motionless and still 
And laid it very carefully 

Upon my window-sill 
Where brightly shone from out the east 

The first beams of the sun. 
And in those narrow prison walls 

A wondrous change begun. 
One morn a brilliant butterfly 

Flew gaily 'round my room. 
Burst were the bonds that bound it. 

Deserted was its tomb, 
With beauty, grace and loveliness 

It cheered the Summer hours 
And fed upon the nectar 

Stored in the fragrant flowers. 



134 



I stood beside a casket 

The gem had soared away 
To join in Heaven's diadem 

A guttering galaxy. 
But lingering o'er the casket 

I thought of days now fled 
And of one who bore no likeness 

To the changed and faded dead, 
And I seemed to see the merriment 

That sparkled in her eye 
And to hear again the merry laugh 

I heard in days gone by, 
And I thought how soon the casket 

Hid in the earth's embrace 
Would fade away, nor leave behind 

In memory's hall a trace; 
And as a last long tribute 

That friendship's hand could pay 
Ere to the lonely tomb they bore 

The cold and icy clay, 
I plucked my fragile pansies 

To lay upon her bier 
And bade them carry with them 

The language of a tear. 
Emblems of angel purity 

Could angels be more fair? 
And as their sweet-breathed incense 

Was flung upon the air 
Faith whispered: "Though not on the earth 

Yet in a heavenly fane. 
The resurrected casket 

Shall hold the gem again." 



[135] 



O little seed interred in earth 

Thy wondrous change is wrought ! 
O butterfly, the chrysalis 

Was once thy burial spot! 
Both from a dark and gloomy grave 

To life and beauty born 
O moldering clay, thou too shalt have 

A resurrection morn ! 

And lovelier shall the seraph be 

Than butterfly or flower. 
And holier shall the voices be 

That bless that waking hour; 
For though the butterfly and flower 

May sink 'neath Winter's frost 
And though their bright symbolic forms 

May be forever lost 
Yet when the soul shall gather up 

The ashes of her clay 
Man shall through endless years defy 

The empire of decay. 



[136 



FROM MY WINDOW 

I see the Asylum's towers 
Loom up 'gainst purpling hills behind, 
Long sweeps, the shaded brown and green 
Of field and meadow, lie between 
Broidered with sprays of orchard flowers. 

I hear the maniac's awful shriek, 
The anguish of the tortured mind ; 
A linnet from a cherry bough 
Is pouring forth such gladness now 
As none would try to speak. 

I feel the solemn, awful fact 
Of pain and sin to earth assigned, 
Mercy in sunshine, bird and bloom 
Covers with wings the darkest tomb ; 
Yet earth hath something lacked. 

I know there is a better land 
Else would we not forever find 
Misery intruding on our bliss 
And blighting what we love in this 
With such a ruthless hand? 

I see, I hear, I feel, I know 

Life is a cloud, all glory lined ; 

Why fear to rise above the gloom 

Above the blasts that blight earth's bloom 

And spoil its promise so? 



137] 



THE LADY OF THE WRECK 

Clear and bright was the hquid depth 
Where a beautiful Brazilian barque 
In the bosom of grim old ocean slept 
With the shades beneath, it green and dark. 

Two divers stood on the ruined deck 
While the tropic sunbeams overhead 
O'er the princely form of the silent wreck 
Their tints of dazzling beauty shed. 

Half embedded, in yellow sand 
And broken coral, the vessel lay; 
While a halo of rainbow color spanned 
The broken toy of the breaker's play. 

The divers halted a moment there 
To gaze on the strange and lovely scene, 
Before them — the vessel weirdly fair, 
Around them — the water's crystal sheen. 

Never in all their strange career 
Had they made their dangerous deep descent 
To a sea so beautiful, bright and clear. 
Where the vessel lay all torn and spent. 

As they stood entranced, a comrade approached 
And beckoning, led the way before 
Where the clear bright waters on all encroached, 
'Till they halted before a cabin door ; 



[138] 



Slightly ajar it stood, at their touch 
Swinging back, to their eyes disclosed 
A sight that held each enchanted, such 
Was the heavenly vision that there reposed. 

The heavy mahogany furniture stood 
Each piece in its own appointed place, 
Unmoved by the strong intruding flood 
That pressed its way into every place; 

In the upper berth of the cabin lay 
A fair young lady, as if she slept. 
From her brow the dark hair swept away 
Like seaweed strands, in the glistening depth. 

'Round her a gaily hued wrap was flung 
Heavily, carelessly, as in mirth, 
And one little jeweled hand was hung 
Over the side of the upper berth. 

Over her beautiful oval face. 
Perfect in womanhood's early dawn, 
And the dark brow's peaceful, pensive grace 
Was left no sign that life was gone. 

Dreamily the closed lids reposed 
Their silken fringe on the rounded cheek, 
Scarce had one started, had they unclosed 
And the child-like lips have moved to speak; 

And the crimson curtain drawn aside 
The rings of its silver rod below. 



[139] 



(As if the fair vision loath to hide) 
Cast into the berth its roseate glow. 

Over two months had she slumbered there, 
By that sea-water clear and cold embalmed; 
Yet it seemed that the soul of that temple fair 
Was only that morn by death's angel calmed. 

The divers gazed on the scene impressed 
With its solemn beauty, then went their way — 
Softly, as not to disturb her rest. 
For death seemed robbed of half his prey. 

They were rude, unscrupulous, fearless men 
These daring wrestlers who challenge the deep. 
In ghastly scenes had they often been 
Where silent sentinels vigil keep. 

They plundered the beautiful barque (nor spake) 
Embedded in coral and yellow sand, 
But not one among them approached to take 
The sparkling rings from the little hand. 

In a few short weeks her lover sought 
The deep sea-grave of his promised bride, 
Their anchor they cast at the self-same spot 
In the diver's armor he braved the tide — 

Through the crystal waters he saw the wreck 
Lit up with its dazzling tints as before, 
He passed o'er the ruined sand-strewn deck 
And followed the guide to the cabin door ; 



[140] 



And there on her peaceful couch beheld 
His promised bride in her watery tomb, 
Ah ! who can guess what emotion swelled 
His heart, as he stood in that sea-lit room? 

And they left her there, it were better so, 
Sweetly to sleep in that upper berth. 
In the crimson curtain's roseate glow, 
Too fair for the dread decay of earth. 

With her long dark hair on the wave afloat 
Like seaweed strands on the waters flung, 
Or clinging close to her fair white throat. 
And one little hand o'er her high couch hung. 

Then close the door gently, disturb her not, 
And softly pass o'er the ruined deck; 
No evil profanes the enchanted spot 
Where sleepeth the lady of the wreck. 



[141] 



NATURE. 

Nature is wonderful, the light that plays 

In every pleasing shape that eye could wish, 

Painting the sunrise with Aurora's blush 

And evening with the sunset's burning flames, 

Flooding the zenith as with burnished gold 

And e'en the gloaming with enchanting shades 

That though less brilliant yet within themselves 

Possess distinct and fascinating charms, 

Is wonderful if we but paused to think 

What our bright world would be, deprived of light, 

Even the night would miss the twinkling lamps 

And mellow moonbeams; while the day 

Would lose her all, for light is day; and darkness 

Would usurp her throne, hanging a sable curtain where before 

The golden beams lost their identity in one unbroken flood, that 

swept a down 
Aerial channels and through rifted clouds. 
Harmoniously blending earth and heaven. 
Take only light, — one blessing of our earth — 
Leaving all else, flowers, birds and trees, beautiful landscapes, 

homes of loveliness, 
Glittering gems and piles of hoarded wealth; 
What were all these without a ray of light? 
An idle mockery, through starless night blinded and groping, to 

exist were death. 
Roaming through flowery meadows, by cool brooks 
Stumbling o'er paths that light would make sublime, 
Losing one's way within a hopeless maze. 
Thirsting with plenteous streams on either hand, 
Dying of hunger in green fields of corn, 
Take light, and day is night and life is death 
Comfort and happiness and friends are lost 
In the dark labyrinth of starless night. 



[142] 



The humblest weed in some dark crevice hid 
Holds in its narrow limits the same forces 
That control the mighty tree and bid it add 
Year after year the leaf, the twig, the branch, 
'Till 'neath its friendly shade, beasts of the field find 
Shelter from Summer's scorching rays 
And the tired traveler reclines to rest. 

It stands a living tree in miniature 

Lifting its tiny branches toward the heavens, 

Spreading its leaflets to the morning sun 

Rearing its buds and blossoms, fruit and seeds, to live and 

flourish when it has decayed. 
We pass them by or tread them 'neath our feet, 
Yet Nature with her wealth of birds and flowers. 
Has in her heart a place for every weed ; 
For her quick eyes require no microscope 
To note the varied wonders and delights 
That the Creator's humblest works possess. 



DREAM OF THE SUMMER LAND 

I dream of a land where no thunder-cloud gathers. 
Where across the calm waters no tempest may sweep 
And where, while we chill in our bleak wintry weather, 
The vales in perpetual Summer-time sleep. 

I dream of a city across whose bright portals 
The sunbeams are rolling in waves of delight, 
Where brightness and gladness and joy are immortal, 
Where there is no darkness, no winter, no night. 



[143] 



I dream of a meadow where lilies are growing 
And fairer than Solomon's glory arrayed, 
I dream of a garden where roses are glowing 
And never a rose or a lily shall fade. 

I dream of a clime where the palm tree is waving 
O'er rivers of crystal and pavements of gold, 
And seraphs amid the bright waters are laving, — 
A realm more serene than the Eden of old. 

I dream of a song that is ever ascending 
O, oft of that anthem of joy have I dreamed ! 
To Him who hath loved us be praises unending 
To Him who from sin unto God hath redeemed. 

Summer, bright Summer ! my thoughts still are roaming 
Through thy beautiful day that so lately was mine 

And now in the gathering shades of thy gloaming 

1 dream of a Summer that knows no decline. 

'Till yonder rude tempest of desolate seeming 
Is melting before the more real unseen 
And only the mystery wrought with my dreaming 
Like a thin veil of gossamer lieth between. 



[144] 



THE YEARS 

Stay, stay, sweet Years, bright circling golden Years 

With your glad Summers full of sunbeam smiles 

And sobbing Winters wet with raindrop tears, 

Your pensive Autumns and the witching wiles 

Of Spring-time days, showers, sunbeams, hopes and fears 

Weave your fair coronets, ye fleeting Years ! 

Ah, is it true that ye will come between, 
Like a vast, heedless, hurrying multitude, 
Between us and the faces that we love. 
Crowding us farther, farther, still apart. 
Hiding them from us by a darkening screen ? 
O Years, bright golden Years, must ye intrude 
At last in endless bitterness to prove 
A mighty barrier, 'twixt heart and heart? 

Stay, hurrying Years, why speed away so fast? 

Rest your bright wings, for we are happy now. 

Ye mock us, for ye say, "It cannot last." 

Are Youth's fresh hopes but idle, feverish dreams 

That like bright bubbles only soar to break? 

Leave us the present, all too fair it seems — 

If dreams are happiness why should we wake? 

Already are your dazzling rainbow hues 
Changing to pallid spectres grim and gaunt. 
Bright Years, will ye your bloom and beauty lose 
And like pale ghostly forms life's pathway haunt? 
Will ye plow furrows, hard, unlovely lines 
Where ruby roses blush and mingle now 
With pearly lilies, fragile tenderness. 
On lips and cheek and brow? 
Will ye crush out with careless, ruthless tread 



[145 



The tender embryoes that spring to Hfe 

In countless crevices of heart and soul, 

That Love hath nurtured and that Hope hath fed 

That where weeds grew there might be flowers instead? 

Will ye break in like thieves in rayless night 

And steal the diamonds one by one away 

That flashed from Love's bright ring their varying light 

'Till all are gone whom we had hoped might stay ? 

Ah! will ye prey upon life's youthful tree 

'Till flower and fruit and leaf are in decay 

'Till the life fluid surging in its heart 

With such fresh, ardent living energy 

Is quenched, its channels parched, its fountain dry 

'Till all it was or promised still to be 

With branches reaching even to the sky 

Down in the fossil depths of earth is thrown 

To petrify and harden into stone? 

O beauteous Years, if only these ye leave 

Take, take the gentle sentiments that grieve, 

Let not the blows that all have overthrown 

Leave one faint wound upon the heart's cold stone! 

But no, bright Years, Faith, Mercy, Hope declare 
False are the prophecies of veiled Despair 
Who whispers : "Oh, the Years are flying fast 
Ye now are happy but it cannot last ;" 
They sing, with folded wings above the heart, 
"Faith, Mercy, Love and Hope will not depart 
The Years can have no power to make thee old 
The warm deep springs of Love shall not grow cold; 
Mercy shall drop her dew in blessing down. 
True Happiness braid still her blossom crown 



[146] 



Hope's fadeless star outshines Heaven's brightest spheres 
And Faith, the angel of the tide of years. 
Points out beyond Time's fog and mystery 
The boundless ocean of eternity." 

Surge on bright Years, ye are but waves that tend 
To bear us nearer to our journey's end ; 
When we look back our life's appointed way 
Will we regret that ye refused to stay ? 
All that ye bear away we yet shall find, — 
The jewels to thy murky depths consigned. 
The blossoms tossed so swiftly from our sight, 
All that was beautiful and good and bright 
Are borne before us through Time's dark defiles 
To wait our coming 'midst the fadeless isles. 



[147 



SONG OF THE EASTER LILIES 

The Lilies of Easter awake and sing, 

They rise from the dust where in sleep they dwell 

Through the long drear winter of death and night 

And out of the dark earth cold and white 

Rise pure and white as an angel's wing 

And the old, sweet story of Easter tell. 

Tender and sweet is the song they chant, 

The Lilies' message of hope and trust, 

To every immortal inhabitant 

Of the world whose inhabitants dwell in dust. 

From cycle to cycle, from age to age 
Through war, through pestilence, sin and wrong, 
From the song, the anthem, the pictured page 
The Easter lilies have blossomed on. 

Awake and sing, ye that dwell in the dust. 
Sweet anthem of prophecy, hope and trust. 
It trembles and vibrates from tomb to tomb 
And the Easter Lilies awake and bloom. 

Open the heart's close-bolted door 

And let the song of the Lilies in, 

Song of prophecy, angel's song. 

Waking Life's beauty from old Earth's wrong. 

Treasures corrupted by moth and rust, 
Lives down-trodden by sin and wrong. 
Rise and join in the Easter song. 
Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust ! 



[148] 



Awake and sing, for the Christ who said 

"Consider the Lilies," speaks to-day (not a buried Christ but a 

risen King) 
And grand shall the final anthem swell 
When all who in dust and darkness dwell, Hke the LiHes of Easter 

awake and sing. 



THE BIRD'S SONG. 

The corn is waving its silken floss 
In the breeze that frolics the field across 
And the berries gleam with a richer hue 
And the grasses bend 'neath the morning due. 
And the Summer-Bride of the golden Sun, 
Her reign of beauty has just begun. 
Sweet roses strew the paths she treads 
And millions of blossoms nod their heads 
And load the air with their sweet perfume 
And earth is aglow with fruit and bloom ; 
But best of all in yon leafy grove 
Are some little birds that I dearly love. 
They have opened their eyes to the sun-bright air 
And tasted the berries rich and rare. 
Oh! of all the joys, I think the best. 
Are the little birds in their cozy nest! 

On a flowery twig I perch and sing: 
"Welcome, sweet Summer, good-bye, sweet Spring,' 
And I look on the heavens so high and bright. 
And I look on the meadows aglow with light 
And plume my wings for the skies' bright towers 
Then pause to linger among the flowers. 
Oh, the earth is so fair I am happy to stay 
But the heavens are so bright I must fly away ! 



[149] 



TWO CHRISTMAS PICTURES 

Holly-berries on the hills, 

Bright above the rocks and rills, 

Mistletoe in tree-tops high. 

Throned against the wintry sky. 

Unattended flocks that stray 

O'er the hill-slopes far away. 

In the East, bright stars that shine 

With a radiance half divine ; 

Christmas carols on the air 

Gladly sounding, everywhere, 

Chimes from many a bell-tower tall 

Falling sweetly over all ; 

Fair the scene, but dim and cold. 

When we look on that of old, 

Bethlehem of prophecy, 

Looking out toward the sea. 

Lying midst her hills of green 

Glistening in her starlight sheen; 

While the shepherds guard their flocks 

Resting by the silent rocks ; 

And the wise men, from afar 

Watch their glorious, guiding star. 

Hush ! the air with music swells 

Sweeter than the chime of bells. 

Look ! a heavenly choir attends 

Glory's light from heaven descends ; 

Sweetly o'er those vine-wreathed knolls, 

That majestic chorus rolls, 

'Till the shepherds catch the strain: 

"Peace on earth, good will to men." 



[150] 



No bright angels throng these skies 
Making earth a paradise, 
But the glorious song they sung 
Trembles now on every tongue ; 
Infant voices now proclaim : 
"Peace on earth, good will to men." 
So we gaze on each bright scene 
Where long ages roll between 
That, more glorious bright 
This, in a serener light; 
But the reign of peace begun 
Evermore its race shall run ; 
Now we see its silvery tide 
Down the rolling ages glide; 
And each Christmas, sing again: 
"Peace on earth, good will to men." 



[151 



THE HERMIT 

Oh, to abide in some sylvan shade 

Removed from Hfe's competition, 

Exempt from her hollow and mean parade 

And her false and fickle ambition; 

Where the tongue of flattery shall be dumb 

With her smiling goblet, brimming ; 

Where the witch of slander may never come, 

Her honeyed poison bringing; 

Where deceit and rumor of war and strife 

Shall trouble no more forever ; 

Where peace shall be the ambrosia of life 

And duty her one endeavor. 

Oh, for the hermit's breezeless calm. 

When the world with guilt is groaning ; 

Tranquil and sweet is his isle of balm, 

Untouched by the storm's wild moaning. 

Crushed lie the blossoms of innocence 

The spoil of the siren's story ; 

Blighted the tender buds of trust 

By the frost-king old and hoary. 

The tyrant stalks in his dauntless pride. 

The plea of the helpless scorning ; 

But oh, in some cloistered spot to abide 

Set only with Truth's adorning; 

Embalmed with the scent of clover-fields 

And lulled by the pines' low sighing. 

Where nature her lavish fruitage yields 

Nor whispers that Time is dying. 

Society, charmed is thy friendly face 

'Till revealed is thy hidden slander. 

Solitude, thine is a three-fold grace. 

Where falsehood is lost in candor. 

When the bow of promise, embossed with gold 

Is dipped in our cup of pleasure. 

We wonder that famous bards of old 

[152] 



Could count thee a priceless treasure ; 
But we sigh for the hermit's breezeless calm 
When the rainbow fades in the gloaming, 
Tranquil and sweet is his isle of balm 
When the angry sea is foaming. 



OUR BETTER SELVES 

Face to face in the light with our better selves 

Sometimes for a moment the mind that delves 

In the problems written below and on high, 

In the flowers of earth and the clouds of the sky, 

The enigmas penciled on star and stone — 

Stands face to face in the light with its own — 

And looks as the stone to the shining star, 

To what we might be from what we are. 

And we try to dash off memory's shelves 

Some volume from sight of our better selves. 

'Tis then we long for a nobler part; 

For a broader mind and a larger heart ; 

For that better self — how it speaks and shames 

Our small deceits and our petty aims, 

'Till we sigh to be noble, and good, and true, 

And do what our better selves tell us to do. 

Turn back from the zigzag path we have trod 

To a highway broad as the love of God. 

We shall stand some time face to face with the past 
When the die of our lives is forever cast ; 
For the soul — the soul — it can never forget — 
Will it shudder and sicken in vain regret, 
And sigh to return to the sphere of men — 
To be, to be, what it might have been? 

[153] 



BIRD SONGS 

The birds are happy, singing all day through 

Their little psalms of praise, 
And just because the sky is clear and blue. 
The grasses green, the trees in leafage new; 
Awake my heart, and be thou happy too, 

These sunny days. 

Sing, as the birds sing, just for love 

Of God and song; 
Make for His temple every leafy grove 
That rears its frescoed canopy above. 
Thy strength, thy freedom and thy gladness prove 

O'er gloom and wrong. 

One little songster taught to me his lay 

It was so sweet. 
These were the warbled words he seemed to say: 
"Earth is so joyous that I long to stay, 
Heaven is so glorious, I would fly away." 

Still doth his song repeat. 

Dreading to live, yet fearing more to die. 

Take thy distress 
To where the birds through field and forest fly, 
Trilling their thankfulness to earth and sky, 
And without gold, or lands or honor, buy 

Such songs as this. 



[154] 



The birds are singing, not for gold or fame 

Their songs may bring. 
O, what care they for words of slight or blame, 
For breathless listeners, or honored name ! 
To empty aisles they carol just the same 

Because they love to sing. 

The birds are happy, 'till their joy o'erflows 

In minstrelsy; 
No wealth for them in glittering treasure glows. 
Awake, my heart, and know what nature knovN^s 
The ecstasy of life that is and was 

And evermore shall be. 



[155] 



A DIVINE CODICIL 
(Isaiah 43:5-9.) 

I claim that though my calling be 

A mandate high of holy writ, 
There is a law that speaks to me 

To modify and govern it, 
Turning the highways of my plan 

To byways that my Saviour trod ; 
Only in being true to man 

Can man be true to God. 

Then tell me not, thy duty lies 

In paths too high for human needs ; 
The hungry raven when it cries, 

Its tender Heavenly Father feeds, 
God calls thee from thy praise and prayer 

If in thy house one life there be 
That needs thy sympathy and care, 

Thy service or thy ministry. 

The Pharisee still hears his "Woe !" 

Above the dead applause of men; 
Still on the road to Jericho 

Kneels crowned the poor Samaritan 
And not the infidel alone 

"There is no God" in boldness saith; 
The Christian who neglects his own 

Is worse, and hath denied his faith. 

For truth's sake truth is blest, and yet. 
In God's account no credit's given 

To him who owes the world a debt 
And pays that debt to heaven. 



[156] 



Where is thy brother, guilty Cain ? 

Against whom only is thy fraud — 
Speak, Ananias ! teach again 

That sin to man is sin to God. 

Meet thy high calling glad and strong ; 

Let pain nor pleasure stay thy flight ; 
Yet through one little human wrong 

Thou shalt not lead the hosts of right. 
While rainbow truths dark errors span, 

While burst sweet blossoms from the sod, 
He who is truest unto man 

Is ever truest to his God. 



[157 



THE GRANDMAS 

Perhaps I were a sleeping, 

Perhaps I were awake, 
And maybe I was neither 

So what difference does it make? 
I dreamed of a merry party 

As jolly as could be 
'Twas all the dear, dear Grandmas 

Invited out to tea. 
They came from near and distance. 

All the Gradmas I had met, 
The dear, quaint, nice old ladies 

I never shall forget, 
And some were oh, so funny ! 

Such stories told that day. 
And said such quaint, wise, solemn things 

As only Grandmas say. 
Some told what kind of herb teas 

Were best for every pain 
And some told all their troubles 

In such a minor strain. 
And then they fell a talking, 

The Grandmas one and all, 
Of some sweet, lovely boy and girl, 

I can't just now recall. 
But one thing still I treasure 

Just like a costly gem 
It was a little boy or girl 

Who had been kind to them. 
One said a little grandchild 

"With softest step" (she said) 
Had brought her lovely violets 

When she was sick abed. 



[158] 



And one, with such a cheerful smile, 

Said, that "a little dear" 
Wrote her the sweetest letters 

A dozen times a year. 
And one who had no grandchild 

And looked so sad and sweet 
Said that somebody's grandchild 

Brought her nice fruit to eat. 
And one who looked a little queer 

Spoke up then just as quick 
And told how that some darling boy 

When she was very sick 
Brought something lovely every day 

Said, "good morning" and good-bye." 
He said: "You're someone's Grandma 

And that's the reason why;" 
Then all the dear old Grandmas 

Put on their things to go, 
I could not help a thinking 

Of some I used to know 
Who didn't come to-day because 

They have grown young again 
In that bright land of Heaven 

Where there is no age or pain, 
And I thought of all the girls and boys 

And wished that I could say: 
"Don't forget the dear old Grandmas 

For we'll all grow old some day." 



[159] 



LOOKING BEYOND 

Today the glorious King of Day is smiling 
Upon the hills and fields he looks upon, 
But somehow from the glory of the sunshine 
There is a something gone. 

What is it? The soft air is warm and pleasant 
The shrubs and trees fresh robes of verdure wear 
And yet a feeling not exactly sadness 
Pervades the air. 

Some sweet notes from the ivory keys come to me, 
They echo through my being, faint and low. 
But why it is they lack the power to soothe me 
I do not know. 

'Tis strange, but sometimes how life's prospects thrill us. 
How cherished plans gleam with a new delight; 
We sleep and wake to find Hope's starry splendor 
Has taken flight. 

Our plans are dim, their glory has departed. 
And yet we cannot find the words to tell 
Of the strange brightness, or the shadowy dimness, 
That these loved dreams befell. 

We only know what seemed of vast importance, 
And, filled with hope our pilgrimage on earth. 
Has dwindled down to-day without a reason 
To small and trifling worth; 

Sometimes these seem enough to make us happy. 
And sure success in these is all we claim; 
And then again we can but vaguely murmur : 
"O for a higher aim !" 



[i6o 



A higher aim, an object that is lasting, 
A height we cannot reach, 
A treasure that is of intrinsic value, 
A thought too deep for speech. 

Be still, oh fluttering Spirit, ever striving 
Like some imprisoned bird to leave its cage, 
Yet in a higher flight a nobler calling 
Thou shalt engage ! 

When the great sun has smiled a few more mornings 
Upon these transient longings and desires. 
There shall be kindled in thy inmost being 
Quenchless celestial fires. 

Be still, what seemeth little may seem greater 
When we shall view with clearer vision all. 
When looking back upon these little strivings 
They may not seem so small; 

And yet we dread to leave our work unfinished. 
We cannot give our petty prospects up 
And should we have to leave them we might murmur 
At this our bitter cup. 

We might deem all our usefulness as ended 
And mourn to leave our greatest work undone, 
When if our lives have been what we should make them 
Our work is just begun. 

Had we but faith to grasp the dim hereafter 
With strong unwavering hands, 
Methinks we could give up without a murmur 
These little earthly plans ; 



[i6i] 



But do we give them up? If true and righteous, 
If with the principles of love instilled 
Methinks in that great limitless hereafter 
They yet shall be fulfilled. 

When the dark angel, Death, shall bid us slumber 
I do not think these living souls shall sleep 
But in the rapture of a perfect freedom 

The thought and memory of the present keep. 

And more and more to grow in life and vigor 
As years that end not, roll o'er broader fields. 
Defying time or death or endless ages 
To stop their chariot wheels. 

Beyond, oh word, oh promise for the future ! 
Oh star of this dark night ! 

Though cherished hopes lose all their power to charm us. 
Beyond, it still is light. 

And though with every golden clasp forgotten. 
With jewels dropping from each broken bond, 
These cherished plans sink down to naught before us. 
We still can look beyond. 



162] 



OLD MODOC 

("UKIAH, Cal, Aug. 20. — A fire occurred at the Yokayo 
Indian reservation last night which resulted in the death of two 
Indians and the practical destruction of the entire village. The 
rancheria is situated about six miles south of this city, and at the 
time the conflagration started the major portion of the population 
was at work in the various hopfields in this valley. 

An old and infirm Indian was confined by illness in one of the 
straw-thatched huts, and in some manner a spark from a slumber- 
ing fire was blown to the roof of the cabin. In almost an instant 
the flimsy structure was in flames. 

It chanced at this time that a Modoc Indian named Will-Ti- 
Mo had returned to the village on an errand, and as soon as he 
discovered the cabin of the old Indian on fire he rushed to the 
rescue. The intense heat drove him back at first, but he no 
sooner recovered his breath than he rushed through the door and 
into the blazing cabin. He seized the old Indian by the hair and 
started to drag him out. By the time he reached the door his 
clothes were on fire and he fell back into the cabin. A moment 
later the roof of the hut fell in and the blazing mass covered the 
two Indians. 

The flames by this time had practically destroyed the house 
and help came in time to remove the two dying men from the 
glowing embers. Will-Ti-Mo, the Modoc brave, was burned 
almost to a crisp, but he was still living when taken from the 
glowing building. The other Indian was dead. All night long 
the death song of the Indians could be heard. The hopfields 
were deserted and Yokayos, Sanels and a few Klamaths gathered 
around the charred bodies to mourn." — Ukiah Press.) 

What is it you tell me, what is it you say, 
Old Modoc died like a hero to-day? 
Strange, very strange, I remember him well 
The tall, gaunt old Indian, tricky and queer 



[163 



Who used to come begging so often here, 

Hiding his coat in some wayside nook 

He sought our warm kitchen on wintry days 

Shivering, coughing, trying to look 

The picture of virtuous suffering and want, 

Stretching his wrinkled old hands o'er the blaze 

Acting the story he wanted to tell 

Of hardship, exposure and starvation gaunt, 

Old Modoc? yes, I remember him well. 

Sometimes the quaint drama would take a new form, — 

Old Modoc would enter unnoticed, unheard. 

With benevolent smile and a great load of wood. 

He would labor unhired till weary and tired 

Then sit down and eat without speaking a word; 

But this quaint, wordless drama was varied at times 

By strange, wild accountings of fire and of flood, 

With gesticulations and vehement tones 

He would picture the throes of disaster and crimes. 

Old Modoc, a wonderful orator stood. 

Stretched to his full height or bent low with the groans 

Of brothers who perished in flood or in flame, 

Or pointing away to the Heaven of the good 

Where their spirits still roamed 

While the earth held their bones, 

And the mixed, faulty dialect little expressed 

But the powerful emotion which shook that old frame 

And no one among us could ever have guessed 

If the tragical tale was of flood or of flame. 

I remember him once when pretending to weep 
He sat himself down in despair on the floor, 
Some request was refused him, his sorrow was deep 
As he wiped his wet eyes on the mat at the door, 



[164] 



A comedy laughing in Memory yet, 

One of the lost pictures we do not forget ; 

And this the same Modoc you speak of to-day 

"Wil-ti-Mo," the new hero, the old Modoc brave 

Who rushed through a fire-circled wigwam to save 

A poor, sick, old Indian left on his bed 

When the thin straw-thatched roof took fire overhead? 

And I think of one, shall I call him — man? 

O his skin is white, and some would say 

That his features were pleasing to look upon, 

They are only hateful to me to-day. 

Old Modoc a hero and he a worm, 

For he left to suffer alone, alone, 

The truest friend that his life had known 

For fear of a possible microbe germ ! 

I'll forget about him if I can. 



[165] 



TO THE BIRDS 

O lark, whose joyous warbling comes 
Across the flowery field to me; 

O red-winged leaders of the gay 
And music-gifted company 

Who gave the Spring's first matinee, 
The blackbirds' jubilee. 

O swallows, perching on the eaves 

Or circling in the air ; 
O linnets, chirping in the vines 
Where wild rose coyly intervines 
With virgin's bower and wild woodbines 

That clamber, here and there. 

O ruby-throated humming-birds. 
That gem the sunbeam's gold; 

Perching, your ditty to repeat. 

Tasting the honey-suckle sweet 

Or whirring near my cloistered seat, 
Half timorous and half bold. 

No nightingale pours forth at eve 

His famous solo here. 
No sky-lark soars to yonder sky 
To carol Nature's praise on high 
Or gush his heaven-born rhapsody 

From fields of upper air. 

Not unto these, for whom the bard 

His richest number lends; 
But unto you, who build and brood 
By yonder stream, in yonder wood, 
Companions of my solitude. 

My little feathered friends. 

[ i66 ] 



To you I sing, though others may 
Their far-famed gifts rehearse 

And sing of sky-larks on the wing 

Where none were ever heard to sing; 

And nightingales, triumphant bring 
To grace their native verse. 

Doubtless the Scottish poet finds 

In these a lasting joy. 
He loves his own green spot of earth, 
Of heath-clad hill and foaming firth ; 
But holds not our broad land enough 

Our homage to employ. 

Ye golden warblers, darting now, 
Through peach-bloom canopies; 
Ye orioles, who seek the grove 
To sing the sonnets of your love, 
In joyous warblings, interwove 
With softest melodies. 

Ye wild canaries, caroling 

Beneath the alders' shade ; 
Ye sprightly grosbeaks, whose rich lay 
From apple-boughs at close of day, 
When sauntering on my homeward way, 

My willing feet have stayed. 

And last, but loveliest of them all, 

In fields, or woods, or dales. 
The shy lazuli-finch, whose song 
Is borne the forest aisles along, 
Woodsy and wild, to you belong 

Wild hills and wooded vales. 



[167] 



And many another chorister 

That time would fail to tell, 
Who helps to make the woods resound 
With bursts of rich melodious sound 
That answering echoes from around 

To one grand chorus swell. 

Long may your notes of blithesome cheer 

The rounds of life beguile. 
Long may your bright hues flash and shine 
In this proud, happy land of mine. 
In this free, joyous land of thine. 

Gay choir of forest aisle ! 

Come when the dove's low cooing calls 

To Spring's first bursting bud. 
Come when the honey-bee invites. 
To Summer's bounteous delights 
To sunny days and moonlight nights 
The fruitful field and wood. 

And when the sere and yellow leaf 
Falls murmuring to the ground. 
Tarry, to chant creation's praise 
In your own sunny, witching ways. 
So long as bloom and fruitage stays 
Or sheltering nooks are found. 

And when my life's glad Spring is past, 

Its apple-blooms decayed ; 
And when my life's sweet Summer goes 
No more its beauties to unclose ; 
When time has bloomed its latest rose 

In loneliness to fade. 



[i68] 



Its Autumn sheaves all gathered in 

Its flame to ashes burned. 
I still would ask thy ministry. 
Come to my grave and sing to me 
Creation's sweetest melody 

That man has never learned. 

Though far away, I may not hear, 

Yet sweet will be the thought 
That they who nearest Heaven soar, 
From earth's green fields and wave-beat shore, 
Still sing to me when life is o'er 

And others have forgot. 



[169] 



THE REDEEMER 

Down through the ancient corridors of Time 
Isaiah's deathless song rolled full and sweet, 
It swayed the universe with tones sublime, 
It shook the mighty monarchies of Crime 
And held within its eloquence complete 
A prophecy of Satan's sure defeat. 

Over Earth's waving fields and wave-beat shore, 
Over her pomp and glory, pride and gold, 
O'er Art's magnificence in cities old. 
O'er Nature's artless beauty, sped the word 
Fresh from the living presence of the Lord 
And wise men marveled at its mystic lore. 

Not only to the mighty did it come. 

Into the darkened hovels of the poor 

Swift did the heralds their glad message bear. 

On noiseless wings oped Heaven's mystic door 

Revealing all the hidden glory there 

And lo, the prophet saw his living Lord, 

His matchless throne and gracious seraphim. 
He heard the message of the King of Kings 
And when the pearly gates swung back again 
And the blest vision vanished from his sight 
He trod the paths of this world's starless night 
As one who had beheld eternal things. 

And from his burning pen glad Prophecies 
Caught holy wings and from the sacred scroll 
Flew to the earth's remotest boundaries 
Fraught with redemption for the ruined soul. 



[170] 



Ages passed by, the holy prophet slept; 
Man hears no more the music of his voice 
His image was not on the land or sea 
Still his blest writings made the world rejoice 
And still his glad and touching prophecy 
Over a world of sorrow, smiled and wept. 

Hushed was the holy night, the wise men trod 
Judea's winding paths to Bethlehem 
Their glad eyes fixed on one resplendent gem 
Upheld and guided by the hand of God 
That bathed the Orient in celestial light ; 

Onward it moved in majesty sublime 

Its mellow beams winging their flight to earth 

Fraught with glad tidings of the Saviour's birth 

And then ascending to the throne divine 

To tell the angels of a world redeemed, 

O'er Heaven's own hosts the wondrous glory streamed. 

Earth in her rapture had so glorious grown 
That e'en the angels could not stay at home 
But left the realm of Heaven to join the strain 
That God's great universe could scarce contain, 
The wonders of the great redemption plan 
Destined to rescue fallen, ruined man. 

O prophets of to-day ! Isaiah spake 

Of Christ's first coming to a world of sin, 

To-day his inspired prophecy awake 

And yet a newer triumph-hymn begin, 

Sing, 'till yon heavens take up the rapturous strain. 



[171] 



Jesus has come and he shall come again, 

Not as before a meek and lowly child, 

Not as before to die upon the cross. 

Not as before in dark Gethsemane 

To suffer for a world of sinners lost ; 

He comes to treasure up earth's grain and gold, 

He comes to cast away her chaff and dross 

To separate the pure from the defiled. 

Not from an humble stable shall He rise 

To tread a thorny path of woe and pain ; 

Christ shall descend from Heaven's unclouded skies 

With angels and archangels in His train, 

Lo, He shall come with trumpet and with shout. 

Mortals let not your flickering lamps go out, 

Jesus has come and He shall come again. 



[172] 



THE MEADOW LARK 

A loud melodious burst of sound in cheery, blithesome measure, 
A call uprising from the ground of real ecstatic pleasure 

A peal of mild and mellow chimes, 

A roll of wild and breezy rhymes, 
A gush of joy's enraptured climes — then all the air is silent. 

But once again the singer swells his throat with song o'erflowing, 
Then falls another chime of bells where shooting-stars are glow- 
ing, 
And once again the air is still 
Save for the voice of laughing rill. 
And sunbeams dance from stream and hill across the flowery 
meadow. 

When there preparing for his flight from an adjacent hollow 
A meadow-lark screams his delight while answering echoes follow, 

Perches a moment on a stump 

With yellow breast, well-fed and plump, 
Then clears the marshy weedy clump with one last scream of 
rapture. 

And speeds away across the fields to join his gay companions 
'Till waving grain his form conceals and hides his fluttering 
pinions, 

While dancing beam 

And circling stream 
Like sprites of mirth and laughter 
In playful frolic whirl and gleam. 
Echo takes up the sportive scream and sends it flying after. 



[ 173 ] 



THE GRAVE OF THE SUICIDE 

Bring no fair flowers to deck his tomb 
They only mock its rayless gloom, 
No virgin lilies sacrifice, 
No pansies with their pleading eyes, 
No royal roses bright and brave 
Condemn to deck a coward's grave. 
Go where the pure and lovely sleep 
Where holy thoughts like mosses creep 
And sacred memories gather 'round 
To glorify the hallowed ground. 
Go where the weary soldier rests, 
Where muffled drums in fearless breasts 
That beat their march to Honor's grave 
Through ardor's flame and duty's wave 
Now lie (fulfilled their latest trust) 
And mingled with their country's dust. 
Go deck the graves where'er they are 
That hold the hero-hosts of war. 
Not they alone who dared to die 
For right, or home, or liberty 
But unto those just honor give 
Who midst life's conflict dared to live. 
Who faced the armies of despair 
And welcomed death, an angel there ; 
Yet rather chose through years of woe 
The torturing rack of life to know 
Than with a feeble human hand 
Destroy the temple God has planned 
With hope to find the peace they crave 
In an ignoble coward's grave. 
Who lived, when death were easier far, 
Are heroes in life's common war. 
Bring fairest flowers to deck the spot 
That chronicles their grief forgot. 

[174] 



Your virgin lilies sacrifice, 

Your pansies with their pleading eyes, 

Your royal roses bright and brave 

Anoint to deck a hero's grave ; 

But they who faced a petty foe 

Nor stayed to plan its overthrow, 

While others fearless turned to wield 

Their arms on many a fiery field. 

These slunk from out the heedless crowd 

And buttoning on their gory shroud 

While wrong, the ranks of right despoiled 

Lay down to sleep when others toiled. 

Cowards, weak cowards, let them lie 

Unnoticed 'neath their natal sky. 

The onward march of triumph treads 

With scorn the grasses o'er their heads ; 

Erect no pedestal of pride 

O'er the ignoble suicide. 

No virgin lilies sacrifice. 

No pansies with their pleading eyes, 

No royal roses bright and brave 

Condemn to deck a coward's grave. 

No trailing myrtle vainly place 

To cover o'er a life's disgrace ; 

Weeds, coarsest weeds, should veil the mound 

With its profaned, unhallowed ground, 

Fit symbol they of low desires 

Of hearts consumed by fiendish fires, 

Of minds distorted, souls that grow 

To dwarfish statures base and low; 

And if perchance a wild flower springs 

Or bird, in passing, stops and sings 

Where only thistles, grass and weeds 

Spring up each year to drop their seeds, 

'Tis like a breath of Mercy's prayer 

Midst changeless justice bleak and bare. 

[175] 



He perpetrates a complex crime 
Who dares to die before his time. 
His country called for noble men 
But where was he, the traitor, then ? 
Life's field was broad, its workers few 
Yet he had nothing left to do. 
Truth had a thousand pearls to give 
And he had naught for which to live. 
Life is so short, life's work so great 
But the tired idler could not wait 
And plotted out his coward's crime 
With hope to rest before his time. 
Who, hath the temple overthrown 
To which God holds the key alone, 
His is the thief's eternal doom, 
His is the prison's hopeless gloom. 
He thinks to sleep, ah, vain his thought ! 
In their lone cells they slumber not ; 
Like culprits in their dungeon bed 
They only wait the sentence dread ; 
His is the murderer's awful fate. 
His grave shall be his prison gate 
From whence again with faltering breath 
He goeth trembling to his death 
Upon his hands the murderer's stain 
And on his brow the mark of Cain ; 
Bring no fair flowers to deck his tomb 
They only mock its rayless gloom. 



[176] 



TO-NIGHT 

Gone are the changing shadows of the gloaming, 
Lost the weird fascination of their spell; 
My thoughts like twilight truants idly roaming 
Turn sadly homeward, loath to say farewell. 

Darkness has veiled the landscape from my vision 
But Fancy chooses shadow for her art, 
She wreathes the stilly night in flowers Elysian 
And strews the silent threshold of the heart. 

She comes and gathers up the heartaches olden 
And flings them out upon the wandering breeze, 
She scatters Hope's bright buds but half unfolden 
Where grew the briers of Fate's austere decrees. 

She tunes the rusting lyres of Love and Beauty 
And times them to the twinkling of the stars. 
She covers up life's page of hard, plain duty 
With glory like the sunset's lustrous bars. 

All o'er our happy land fond hearts are breaking 
And tears are bathing ruins, wrecks and blight. 
Thousands of souls with awful guilt are quaking 
And many a home is desolate to-night. 

But over all a seraph spreads her pinions 
Her graceful form is poised in breezeless air. 
Her mission to all nations and dominions 
To sprinkle holy balm on earth's despair ; 

So though so many hearts are bowed with sorrow 
And Love is weeping o'er time's wreck and blight, 
Hope giveth promise of a bright to-morrow 
And Mercy hovers o'er the world to-night. 

[177] 



LAMENT OF THE FALLEN OAK 

"Alas, and is it true that I no more 

Shall stand in pride and beauty as of yore, 

Strength for my throne and grandeur for my crown, 

Might for my scepter? Who has thrown me down? 

Who dared to smite the monarch of the wood? 

I, who for many centuries withstood 

The storm-king's anger and the wind-fiend's wrath 

Dethroning many others in their path, 

Stripping the leafy forests, thundering 

Down the wild canyons, ever muttering 

In baffled rage as firm beneath their frown 

I stood, defying aught to tear me down. 

The forest fires lit up the woods with flame 

I knew not where they went or whence they came, 

The crackling underbrush, the blazing grass, 

Smoldered to ashes, and I saw them pass ; 

Flame after flame in madness leaping high 

Lighting the woods, the mountains and the sky ; 

Yet stood I like some armored, dauntless knight 

Unscathed, unshrinking in the thickest fight; 

Even the long, grey, lightly flowing moss 

On limb and twig still free in sport to toss 

To every breeze that hummed its lullaby 

Through the high branches of the old oak tree. 

The sound of the wood-chopper as at morn 

Waked the still echoes and as downward borne 

To the same soil from which they one day sprang 

The trees returned, the dim old forest rang. 

Crash! And the highest were forever low; 

Then fell the chopper's axe, blow after blow 

Resounding through the forest 'till at last 

Nothing was left to whisper of their past 

But the low stumps decaying in the ground 

And the dry brush of branches strewn around; 

[178] 



Yet towering still above their sudden fall 

I stood unshaken, monarch over all; 

But now, alas, why vanished triumphs tell? 

On me at last the lot of nature fell, 

No storm of terror shook my bulwarks down 

No war of elements laid low my crown. 

No burning fiery furnace scathed my bark, 

No lightning arrow chose me for its mark, 

No feeble instrument in feebler hand 

Forbade my leafy throne to longer stand ; 

But fell the gentle rain from clouds above 

On field and forest, mountain, plain and grove 

'Till countless springs stray rivulets supplied 

And swelled the torrent to a rushing tide 

'Till every hill-slope shone with silver threads, 

With tiny pebbles in their shallow beds. 

With sap refreshed and leaves of brighter green 

I gazed in gladness on the freshened scene ; 

But every leaf was weighed with rain-drops down 

And heavier grew my lofty, leafy crown. 

The mistletoe adorning every bough 

Seemed like a mighty weight of metal now, 

And still the rain-drops fell though every hill 

Seemed gushing forth in gurgling spring and rill ; 

And still the clouds poured down their crystal flood 

Swelling each purling stream and bursting bud ; 

When a slight tremor through my being ran, 

A shiver midst my highest twigs began, 

A loosening midst the roots embedded deep 

In the firm earth, where centuries saw them creep 

'Till grown to giant strength and giant size 

They bade the sapling high and higher rise ; 

Upheaving earth, uptearing rocks around — 

Hush! Through the silent glades a thundering sound, 

A crash of splintering boughs, an awful thud — 

And then oppressive silence in the wood. 

Alas, my fall ! The little birds no more 

[179] 



Shall sing among my branches as of yore, 

Their last year's nests have shared my sudden doom 

No more in early Springtime will they come 

With twitters of artless ecstasy 

To build their dwellings in the old oak tree ; 

No more with tiny wings raised timidly 

From twig to twig the baby-birds shall fly 

And try their first weak songs beneath the leaves 

That to their cozy homes were roof and eaves. 

Ye pigeons, that with fluttering pinions stayed 

To gather acorns in the deepest shade, 

Ye red-winged blackbirds that year after year 

In earliest Spring were wont to gather here 

Holding the season's first grand jubilee 

Among the branches of the old oak tree, 

Why more upon your vanished music dwell 

Since all is past? My feathered friends — farewell. 

Ye frisking squirrels that to your burrows bore 

My plenteous acorns for your Winter store. 

Ye lambs that nibbled the young grass below 

And frolicked where the wild-flowers loved to blow, 

Green grow the fields and blue the Summer sky 

But as for me — a last and long — goodbye. 

Ye cheerful wind-flowers that with dewy breath 

Freighted the sunshine and shade beneath. 

Fair, frail nemophilas in freshness grown 

By Nature's hand in rich profusion sown 

With wide blue eyes in loveliness upraised 

That oft through dew-drop tears so sweetly gazed 

Or clear as bluest depths of Summer sky 

Looked up to those blue heavens lovingly. 

And dainty cream-cups mingling with the blue. 

Bright, tender wild-flowers evermore — adieu. 

And thou, encircling stream, that at my foot 

Didst fall in cascades over rock and root 



[ i8o 



Where fairy fern-fronds like Narcissus vain 

Their graceful forms saw mirrored back again 

In glassy pools below the cascade's fall 

And waved to every zephyr's breezy call, 

I saw thee every year farther below, 

Thou saw'st my rise, my reign, my overthrow; 

Again the wild deer shall the grasses press 

That carpet all around with loveliness. 

Again the hunter rest upon the brink 

Of the cool stream and from its waters drink; 

But nevermore shall my inviting shade 

Shield the fierce heat of Summer from the glade : 

Trailing in dust are all my hoary plumes 

While every sunny hour my life consumes, 

And long grey moss and broken mistletoe 

Lie strewn around like cerements of woe. 

I envy now the tules by yonder lake 

That bend to every gale but do not break, 

The tallest, half way sunk in waters deep. 

Their feeble roots through mire and driftings creep 

Yet I, with giant roots through rock-beds wound 

Or firmly fastened in the solid ground, 

I, who once called them weak, and small and low. 

Fain would be growing as I see them grow. 

But why my common heritage deplore? 

The bravest warrior finds his triumphs o'er. 

The mightiest king laments the fatal hour 

When ruined lies the scepter of his power ; 

And I have lived while empires rose and fell 

And kings lived out their little day as well ; 

Yet I who stood for centuries the same. 

Chanting the triumph song of power and fame. 

Now lie with all my vaunted vigor spent 

The vanity of pride my last lament!" 



[i8i] 



THE BUTTERFLY 

Butterfly, butterfly, where are you going? 

Do you dine today with the regal rose 

Or nectar sip with the Hhes blowing 

In the golden noontide's sweet repose ? 
Away, away, on silken pinions, 
Gay guest of Flora's proudest minions. 

Or will you pause midst the fragrant clover 
And their humbler viands not despise. 
While the proud tuberoses wait their lover 
And the pansies smile from their velvet eyes ? 
Away, away, on dainty pinions 
Gay guest in Flora's fair dominions. 

Butterfly, butterfly, praised and petted 

Welcomed and feasted and loved by all. 

Say have you ever yet regretted 

That an humble worm you learned to crawl 
You who soar on sun-dyed pinions 
With bees and blossoms for companions? 

O, like the worm we must aspire 
To a higher flight and a lovelier guise. 
If on unseen wings we mount up higher 
And from a worm of the dust arise, 

A full-fledged wonderful new creation 
On the pinions of noble aspiration ! 

O, like the worm we must repair 
From the coarse low things of the worm's delight 
And wind our souls in the shreds of prayer 
And fashion us wings for an endless flight; 
Then bursting forth from our chrysalis 
Taste the sweets of the highest happiness ! 

[182] 



WITHIN THE VEIL 

O friends, now entered on a new existence 
(Whose forms from sight have gone 
That we shall know within that untrod distance 
To which our steps press on). 

What waits us there ? In all our imperfection 
Can we step out upon that untried land? 
Ye come not back, who wait the resurrection 
To lead us by the hand. 

Ah! through the pitfalls of this world of dangers 
A love has led that still hath power to guide, 
We entered here as lost and helpless strangers, 
God's endless future is not more untried. 

Casting aside our earth-chained false ambition, 
Taking with gladness all His love hath planned, 
To follow where He leads, our highest mission 
Through life, through death into the better land. 



[183] 



THE PATRIOT ABROAD 

He stood in a foreign port 

In the midst of the clamoring din 

Straining his eyes o'er the peaceful waves, 
Watching the ships come in. 

There were French and Italian frigates 

And British men-of-war 
And flags of all nationalities 

Streaming their colors afar ; 

But one of the many caught his eye 

And raised his eager hand 
To wave his hat in welcome, 

'Twas the flag of his native land. 

It flung on the Orient zephyrs 

Freedom's prophetic types 
While India's sunbeams sported 

In Columbia's stars and stripes, 

And it spake to the lonely traveler 
Of his home across the main 

Where it waved in majestic beauty 
O'er the freedman's sundered chain. 

What wonder he greeted its coming 
With a glad and grateful heart. 

It seemed of his country, — an emblem. 
Of his cherished home, — a part. 

Like a star from his native heaven 
Or a message from some loved name. 

Or a flov/er plucked from his garden 
On the wings of a dove it came. 

[184] 



Float on, loved flag of Freedom 

O'er many a foreign sea 
And wake in the hearts of thousands 

The echoes of liberty ! 



BABY BESSIE 

With strong, free motion of life and limb 
Bessie is dimbing the hill, 
With rose-cheeks under her bonnet's brim 
To the time of her own sweet will; 
May the world hold peace and happiness 
And all that is good and true for Bess. 

" Bess," hear the parrot call 

From his cage in the old madrone, 

Hugged to her heart is Jane the doll 

Now faded and aged grown, 

The flowers of Springtime will bloom again 

But beauty will never come back to Jane. 

Up the long grass slopes where the sheep flocks browse 

She comes without pause for rest 

A ginger cooky from Grandpa's house 

Held tight in her chubby fist, 

I'll have sardines and doughnuts and apples and tea 

For Bessie has come to take lunch with me. 

Bessie, you brave little mountaineer, 
I've a picture that's hid from sight 
But I could see it as plain and clear 
If I shut my eyes up tight, — 
A vision of brown-eyed rosiness 
A little friend by the name of Bess. 

[185] 



THERE IS A GOD 

The fool hath said, "There is no God" 

But Wisdom, hour by hour, 
Proclaimeth over land and sea 
In sweet unbroken harmony 

His glory, love and power. 

Who formed the earth, who built the sky. 

Who planned the circling year? 
Seed time and harvest roll around 
We listen — but no jarring sound 

In Time's great wheels we hear. 

Day unto day, night unto night, 

For toil and rest designed; 
Surely some living mind hath thought 
Who spake a universe from naught 

Had more than mortal mind. 

Some sculptor hand hath formed the earth. 

Some architect 
Hath reared the heavens to their height, 
Some artist with his colors bright 

All nature decked. 

Who wrought the delicate design 

Of leaf and bud? 
Who to the bird his music taught. 
If as the blinded fool hath thought 

There is no God? 



[i86] 



Who shall avenge the innocent 

Whose speaking blood 
Cries from the ground wronged Nature's curse 
If in the boundless universe 

There is no God? 

And who fulfill those hopes that pant 

Through fire and flood? 
What solace can they give instead 
Who with the blinded fool have said : 

" There is no God?" 

" There is no God," the fool hath said, 

On earth's green sod; 
But Wisdom speaks from earth to sky 
And sings from world to world on high 

There is a God. 



[187] 



THE PROCESSION 

Lo, 'tis a vast procession passing by 
From the great amphitheater of the past! 
The cloistered avenues of imagery 
Glow with the flame-light from their torches cast, 
The suns of centuries hurried to their goal, 
Their goal the chaos of the past unveiled, 
The moons and stars of years beyond control ; 
Are these their torches, these by distance paled ? 
No ; from their hands the quenchless font of flame 
Shines brightening over suns forever set, 
The burning rays of Truth's immortal fame 
Forbid the future, to the past forget ; 

But who are they of silent, stately tread 
Still moving on to martial music sweet 
While careless hands by passing impulse led 
Are scattering briers and blossoms at their feet? 
O, these are they with whose life-victories 
The past, the future lavishly endows 
The breezes of the coming centuries 
Shall lightly wave the laurels on their brows ! 

Ye crowds, who watch the grand processions march 
Along the cities' bannered avenues, 
Turn to where vague oblivion's boughs o'er-arch 
From whose deep shades this regal train issues 
Down through the centuries crowded thoroughfares 
Gathering fresh numbers in their sure advance. 
Each face, the mark of life-won battle bears ; 
They come not here by fortune, fate or chance. 

And will you turn from these again to gaze 
On some clan ego's petty pageantry? 
Time's grand centennials mark their day of days 
For theirs is more than vaunted vain display; 
[i88] 



Behold they come, a strong resistless force 
Unstopped by opposition's adamant 
But pressing onward in their kingly course 
Truth's principles immortal to implant; 

Yet not like plumed knights bearing pennons gay 
Down Fancy's lighted avenues they come, 
O what a thoughtful, earnest train are they 
Advancing to old Time's year-measured drum, 
Not like grim soldiers marching on to war, 
Not like exultant gatherings national 
No wave-washed empire boundary can bar 
From any realm what they have won for all ! 

They who have laid Truth's pearl-hewn corner stone 

And struck unerring blows at Falsity 

'Till her proud atoms to the four-winds blown 

But Prophecy, how great her fall shall be ! 

Ah ! many figures there we recognize. 

Not by a memory of form or face 

But by that recognition that defies 

The cold, remorseless sweep of time and space. 

Have we not walked with them in paths apart. 
Held with their thoughts benign communion sweet, 
Whispering soul to soul and heart to heart 
Or sat hke children learning at their feet? 
But, lo, among their numbers there is none 
Like to One only, more than all beside 
Thorns for unfading laurel-wreaths He won 
He, who for man alone, hath lived and died. 

The wreckless curb-stone-crowds, how many yet 
Are scattering cruel briers in His path, 
O, do they in their heedlessness forget 
That heavens of mercy yet will cloud with wrath ! 

[189] 



From the elixir of the purest truth 
Turn they toward an image built of naught 
Drinking through life, in childhood, age and youth 
The bitterness of some deceiver's plot. 

Thanks be to you, ye great souls of the past, 
For the life-lessons ye have lived to teach; 
Thanks be to you that on Time's current cast 
Fresh leaves of truth float ever in our reach. 
And have they gone, the realms of imagery. 
Dissolve their magic barriers to the real, 
Roll in, ye waves of life's prosaic sea 
But when will Fancy's queen their ranks reveal ? 

O they will come again when vain and weak 
Seemeth the strife of man to live for men, 
Unto our lives their deathless lives will speak 
Down through the noise of centuries that have been ! 
O they will come, yea ever and anon 
With that majestic presence high and calm; 
Until with them our teachers, we sit down 
To the glad marriage-supper of the Lamb! 



[190] 



DEATH 

Dark were the world if o'er its gloom 
The gospel light had never dawned, 
Hopeless our fate if through the tomb 
We saw no better world beyond. 

The smile of earthly gladness fades 
Destined to swift and sure decay, 
Disease this mortal frame invades 
And leaves but cold and lifeless clay. 

So brief is life — a few short years 
Measure this fleeting transient breath, 
Sorrow and gladness, smiles and tears 
Surrender to the angel, — Death. 

"Come unto me," the Saviour said; 
No more a weary pilgrim roam; 
Swift through the night the chariot sped 
That bore the deathless spirit home. 

Veiled are the joyous, sparkling eyes, 
No more on earth to smile or weep, 
No more to ope in glad surprise 
When earthly music breaks their sleep. 

Peaceful is now the weary brain 
Its tumult stilled, its tempest o'er. 
Its once bright prospects slowly wane 
As lights upon a distant shore. 

But oh, true heart, art thou asleep? 
Thou who wert faithful to the last 
Struggling the flickering flame to keep 
When all else sank before the blast? 

[191 ] 



Yes, thou art still. No earthly voice 
Can rouse thee from thy pulseless calm, 
The heart once weighed with many a cross 
Has changed its sorrows for a psalm. 

They are not here, the soul has left 
But the frail house of its abode. 
The fires are quenched the hearth bereft 
That once with warmth and beauty glowed. 

Through the dim windows, curtained now, 

Once an ethereal spirit shone ; 

On the pale rigid cheek and brow 

The blushing rose of health has blown. 

The mind dwells not within its walls 
Nor knows its desolate decay 
But far beyond death's lonely halls 
It revels in eternal day. 

The heart that oft unsatisfied 
Throbbed with a longing unexpressed, 
Freed when the quaking mortal died. 
Has found the Christian's peaceful rest. 

Vv'^hen on a lonely coffin lid 
You hear the heavy clods descend. 
And " dust to dust " is sadly said 
Above the ashes of a friend ; 

Oh, do not mourn in mute despair! 
Death cannot break love's silent power ; 
The hidden bud we nourish here 
In Heaven has bloomed a perfect flower. 



[92] 



Love cannot die. A lengthened chain 
Binds heart and soul, and mind and will 
To those we hope to meet again, 
The same dear friends who love us still. 

The Christian knows no darkened grave, 
Before earth's bells their dirge could toll 
Angelic palms began to wave 
To welcome home a weary soul. 

Gather sweet flowers of hope and love 
And bring them with a noiseless tread, 
Symbols of joys that bloom above, 
To strew around your sacred dead. 

And as their sweet perfumes arise 
Linked with the spirit's voiceless prayer 
Look up to yonder paradise 
And count your loss a triumph there. 

For Hope's triumphant bow has spanned 
The cloud that hovers o'er the tomb. 
And Faith beholds the better land 
Where fairer flowers than Eden's bloom. 



[193] 



WE SHL\LL SLEEP BUT WE SIL\LL WAKEN 

We shall sleep but we shall waken 
In the morning bright and fair, 
We, by sudden night overtaken 
In a land of dark despair ; 
Whatsoever may befall us 
Though our rest be long and deep, 
Jesus in the morn will call us 
Call us from our silent sleep. 

We shall sleep but we shall waken 
Though the night be cold and drear, 
Not forgotten, not forsaken, 
With a dear Friend watching near; 
Long may be the night of sadness 
Yet that Friend, His watch shall keep 
"Till the glorious morn of gladness 
When He wakes us from our sleep. 

We shall sleep, but we shall waken 
At the sound of that dear voice 
At whose murmur thrones have shaken. 
At whose whisper saints rejoice; 
O'er our newly wakened vision 
Floods of holy light shall sweep 
From that morning-dawn Elysian 
When He wakes us from our sleep. 

We shall sleep but we shall waken, 
Jesus slept, and woke before ; 
We shall sleep and we shall waken 
When our silent sleep is o'er; 
On the stillness of our slumbers 
Shall break forth that music deep 
From glad hosts in countless numbers 
When He wakes us from our sleep. 

[ 194] 



We shall sleep but we shall waken, 
We shall meet with friends long dead, 
Those who from our sight were taken 
To a cold and narrow bed ; 
From the loftiest tomb's dark prison, 
From the lowliest grass-grown heap. 
We shall rise as Christ has risen 
When he wakes us from our sleep. 

We shall sleep but we shall waken 
In the resurrection morn, 
We, by sudden night o'ertaken, 
Wanderers lost amid the storm; 
Whatsoever may befall us. 
Though our rest be long and deep, 
Jesus in the morn will call us. 
Call us from our silent sleep. 



[195 



EARTH'S POWER AND WEAKNESS 

Earth, thou hast grandeur, mighty piles are thine 
Of human skill and workmanship divine. 
Nature and art their kindred aims unite 
To build thy loftiest monuments of might, 
And dip their jeweled pens in floods of flame 
To write the deathless eulogies of fame, 
Where malice cannot one bright line deface 
Or envy tear the record from its place ; 
Thy castles and thy crags tower side by side 
By them the quaking elements defied, 
Give o'er their strife and cease their paltry war. 
Lay down their spears and own thee, conqueror. 

Earth, thou hast wealth, uncounted gold is thine, 
Jewels lie stored within thy hidden mine ; 
Safe in thy vaults for centuries they have lain. 
Mortals have striven to claim them, but in vain. 
Over thy wealth is set a solemn seal. 
Ah ! let the arrant thief break through to steal, 
Thy jewels still shall deck thy vast domain; 
Thy gold shall glitter in thy vaults again, 
Man cannot from thy breast thy treasures bear, 
The miser guards his hoards with jealous care 
Claiming them, while he leaves them all behind. 
He proves at last the truth that they are thine. 

Earth, thou hast beauty, varied charms are thine 
Wrought in rich fabrics and in rare design 
Thy galleries of art thy smiles display ; 
Thy pictured landscapes loveliest themes portray: 
Beautiful are the songs that pierce thy air 
And beautiful thy holy tones of prayer ; 



[196] 



Thy sun that smiles thee and thy clouds between 
Casts o'er thy features a transparent sheen; 
From Night's fleet chariot, her priestess pale 
Spreads o'er thy slumbering face a silvery veil. 
Yes ; in great beauty are thy features planned 
Molded by an all wise, almighty hand. 

Earth, thou hast glory, pomp and pride are thine, 

Thy sun of promise knoweth no decline. 

Thy might is sung by vast assemblages 

And grand processions ofifer thee their praise, 

Resounding aisles thy eulogies prolong 

And martialed hosts repeat thy triumph song; 

They pass away to rest beneath thy turf 

Or make their graves below thy briny surf, 

But other tongues awake the dying strain 

And chant the endless anthem of thy fame ; 

Yes, thou hast glory, mighty Earth, on thee 

Waiteth unrivaled pomp and pageantry. 

Thou hast all these, oh Earth ! all these are thine. 
Beauty and wealth and pageantry combine 
To serve thee during all thy long career. 
These have been thine for many, many a year ; 
These shall be thine, thy jeweled hands may hold 
All that thou hast of glory, gems or gold. 
Ages have sped away on pinions fleet 
But still thy treasures glitter at thy feet; 
Ages may tread again thy golden sands. 
They cannot tear thy riches from thy hands. 
Keep them, oh Earth ! to thee they all belong. 
We claim them but we do not want them long ; 
A few short years and we must leave behind 
All that we have or hope in thee to find. 



[197] 



But one thing, Earth, one thing thou canst not bind ; 
Thou canst not fetter the immortal mind. 
The soul defies thy will and breaks thy bands 
Bursts through thy bars and flees from thy commands. 
Thy gold and gems are safe within thy grasp 
But, lo, the spirit slips from out thy clasp ; 
Soars on its sunbright wings to cloudless spheres 
Nor glances backward to thy realm of tears ; 
Chained in thy prison cells or dungeons deep 
Where sentinels their sleepless vigil keep, 
On fearless pinions plumed for holier air, 
They pass thy prison-gates, nor tarry there. 

Consigned to marble tombs, hid in the deep 
No plan of thine thy richest prize may keep ; 
The soul of deathless and imperial birth 
This grandest treasure is not thine, oh Earth ! 
What is thy hoarded wealth and boasted power? 
What is thy rarest charm or richest dower, 
When one bright gem that flashes on thy shore 
Shall live and reign when thou shalt be no more ? 



[i^ 



POISON IVY (Rhus toricodendron) 

In the pasture's tangled thickets 
Clinging to old mossy stumps, 
Running over rocks and rubbish, 
In long wreaths or tangled clumps, 
Clambering up the gnarled old tree-trunks 
With its strong aerial roots. 
Sporting in the balmy breezes, 
Graceful sprays and glossy shoots. 
A fair vine, with lovely foliage. 
Any season, may be seen. 
In the Autumn, gold and crimson, 
In the Springtime, glossy green. 
Charming in its every feature. 
Beautiful as heart could want. 
Who would think then of avoiding 
This fair vine's sequestered haunt? 
Yet beware, and think how often 
Earth's most charming loveliest things. 
Hide beneath a fair exterior, 
Poisonous sap, or cruel stings. 
Touch not, 'tis the poison ivy; 
Spurn its festooned haunt with care; 
Trust not, 'tis a fair deception. 
Hidden guile is lurking there. 
Type of many another nature. 
False, untrue, yet passing fair. 
Trifling with the poison ivy 
Prudence cries : " O friends, beware !" 



[199] 



A SONG OF PRAISE 

Thou, whose immortal praise is sung 
In hymns of deathless fame, 

O, teach a feeble, faltering tongue 
To magnify Thy name ! 

Thy name, at which the angels fall 
And veil each shining brow, 

Thy name, on which the lowliest call. 
To which the loftiest bow. 

O, for a language to adore 
Thy glorious name on earth! 

O, for a heavenly harp to pour 
Thy heartfelt praises forth ! 

O, for a hymn to praise Thee still, 

When centuries have fled ; 
When all who now life's stations fill 

Are numbered with the dead ! 

A hymn to praise Thee as thou art 

Redeemer, Lover, Friend, 
Fraught with the language of my heart, 

'Till fleeting time shall end. 

Alas ! I learn how weak my powers 
The depths of love to reach. 

How finite are these joys of ours. 
How vain is human speech. 

Only a thankful heart, I bring 

For all thy love to give. 
To Thee, by faltering faith, I cling; 

Who died, that I might live. 

[ 200 ] 



O, keep that heart in perfect peace! 

O, keep it pure and white ! 
That feeble, fluttering faith increase 

'Till changed to perfect sight. 

Only for one sweet song, I yearn 

My gladness to express, 
That some might turn to Thee, and learn 

What changeless pleasure is. 

O, for the song the Blessed sing ! 

O, for their living lyres! 
O, for an angel's flaming wing 

To fan immortal fires! 

Vainly, I long to sing Thy love, 

Thy changeless love to me, 
O, for a life whose truth shall prove 

A silent psalm to Thee ! 

Help me in living faithfully 

To glorify Thy grace; 
Then shall I sing eternally 

When I behold Thy face. 



[ 201 



THE DEEP OF DESPAIR AND THE HAVEN OF 
HAPPINESS 

Like a vision it gleamed through the darkness 
And flashed on my wondering view, 
And at first, not the half of its beauty 
Nor the depth of its meaning, I knew ; 
'Till as a fair painting in shadows 
Grows clearer when daylight has dawned, 
A radiance illumined its dimness 
As if touched by some magical wand. 

The scene was a tempest-tossed ocean. 
Frightfully dismal and dark, 
But soon on the waves, I saw tossing 
The form of a frail little barque ; 
And nearer and nearer it floated 
'Till plain to my view it had grown, 
And I saw in it, weary and helpless, 
A woman sat weeping alone. 

Then an angel came down from the heavens 
And poised her light wings on the air. 
While she gazed on the waves' inky blackness 
And the dense, heavy clouds of Despair, 
And the tempest grew louder and louder 
And the breakers dashed higher ; until 
She breathed on the turbulent waters 
And the voice of their murmuring was still. 

And the woman aroused by the calmness 
From the depths of her sorrow awoke 
And lifting her eyes, saw the angel. 
And thus in soft accents she spoke : 
" O angel ! bright angel ! my life barque 
Has long sailed on this dreary sea, 

[ 202 ] 



I have long sought a harbor of refuge 
But no morning shall dawn upon me. 

For oh ! I have left them behind me 

The harbors I once hoped to gain 

I shall never return, but float onward 

'Till I sink in the fathomless main. 

Once I sailed on a sea of rare beauty 

Where no cold, piercing wind ever blew. 

Where the warm sunbeams kissed the blue wavelets 

And the storm-clouds were transient and few ; 

But I longed at some harbor to anchor 
And float no more on the swift tide, 
To find some bright haven of pleasure 
And there in contentment abide. 
And many I passed on my journey, 
And they looked like the Eden of old ; 
But not for me could they blossom 
Or their marvelous wonders unfold; 

And I've given up, long ago, hoping 

For a beautiful sylvan retreat 

With the pearls of affection 'round me strewn 

And the roses of bliss at my feet ; 

For the contrary winds of trouble 

Have borne my barque far away 

From the sea, Hope's beautiful, sunlit sea, 

Where the shores of happiness lay." 

She paused, and the angel answered. 

In a voice so silvery clear : 

" O woman ! listen to what I say 

And wreck not thy life barque here. 

For out on this ocean of darkness 

Beneath the storm-king's frown, 

I have watched with emotions of horror 

Millions of ships go down. 

[203] 



For they trusted not in the light-house 

Nor believed in another shore 

Where all tempest-tossed, their barques might land 

So they sank to rise no more 

Despond not, O woman! look beyond 

On the wave a gleam is shed 

From the light-house whose beams flood with glory 

A haven that lieth ahead." 

She looked where the angel pointed 

And a radiance lit up her face 

And she said : "O beautiful angel, 

Where is that happy place?" 

" Come with me," spake the angel, 

" Fear not the dashing spray 

Follow the gleam from the light-house 

It cannot be far away ; 

And if through the light and shadow 
Onward, right onward you steer. 
Soon bathed in a sunlight of glory 
The haven of rest will appear. 
Onward to join in its music. 
Onward its glories to share ; 
I was sent from that beautiful refuge. 
Was sent to guide thee, there." 

And calm on the breast of the billows 

Through the shades of the twilight gray, 

I watched with unwavering interest 

The little barque glide away; 

As mingled with murmuring of waters 

The voice of the shining one, said: 

" O, trust in the strong, faithful light-house 

For the haven that lieth ahead !" 



[204] 



THE PACIFIC 

Beautiful Pacific ! Queen of every ocean ! 

Grasping earth's proud continents in thine outstretched arms, 

Loud thy royal music-bands, in their deep commotion, 

Swell their notes of harmony, to praise thy queenly charms. 

Where thy train of purple sweeps the far horizon 

Fringed with sunset-amber, sprinkled o'er with gold. 

Where the Orient rainbow doth thy crown emblazon, 

Monarchs awed before thee, do thy power behold. 

Tread'st there another where thy jewels brighten 

All thy mystic palace with its secret crypts ? 

Readest there another, the strange history written 

In whose well of knowledge, science vainly dips? 

With their snowy turbans sparkling in the glamour 

Of the golden sunshine, surge the orchestra ; 

But though for thy captives, nations vainly clamor. 

Deep and mighty music drowns thy mystery ; 

Thou hast hid thy captives in the deep recesses 

Where no footfall echoes, but thy regal tread ; 

There the sailor's pallid form his couch of sea-weed presses 

And the rash explorer makes his lowly bed ; 

There the strong ship's anchor, wound in tangled cables 

Rusts amid her ruin, in darkness and debris, 

Where the ghastly skeleton mocks the idle fables 

Sung in playful measure by the blue waves of the bay. 

Queen of every ocean, beautiful Pacific! 

Every sportive wave of thine is armed a cruel foe. 

Terrible in anger, in kindly mood seraphic. 

Store-house of prosperity and charnel-house of woe. 

Nature's mighty forces crowned thy jeweled tresses. 

With a grander crown than ever mortal monarch wore. 

Thou who spite thy ravage, each country more than blesses 

Where thy dark blue breakers beat against the shore. 



[205] 



THE SPIRIT REALM 

Poets have sung of the spirit realm 

And sages discoursed in tones subHme 

Of the land where the saints and angels dwell, 

And to-day their thoughts flood the aisles of time. 

But what do we know of the great unknown ! 
Though we listen in rapture to song and speech, 
The bard and the prophet went forth alone 
To learn what they one day strove to teach. 

What though their names honor the scroll of fame 
And are uttered by thousands o'er sea and land, 
Go read on cold sculptured stones the names 
Of those who strove vainly to understand. 

O problem, solved on the other side 

By those who have passed through the pearly gate ! 

Martyrs have sung of thy joys and died 

But gave not a glimpse of the soul's estate. 

Doubtless they comprehend the whole 
Of the mystery we fain would know, 
But alas! though measureless ages roll 
They return no more to this world below. 

Full many a lofty line and page 
Have life's earnest workers left behind, 
But oh, for a glimpse of their heritage 
In the realms they journeyed forth to find. 



[ 206 



We may search for the secrets of the deep, 
We may study the stellar worlds on high ; 
But not 'till our eyes close in endless sleep 
Shall we fathom the things that our search defy. 

We only know a great mystery, 
Unknown to us now, shall be known some day, 
When with clearer vision our eyes shall see 
The mists of uncertainty rolled away. 

O revelation, beyond all thought! 
When the old shall perish before the new, 
How narrow the knowledge time has taught, 
When mortals shall know as the angels do. 



[207] 



HOME, SWEET HOME 

Backward across the lapse of years, 

With its ebbing tide of smiles and tears. 

Memory turns her wistful gaze 

And sighs for the pleasures of by-gone days, 

Yearns for one glimpse through the crested foam 

And pauses to whisper : "Home, sweet Home." 

Not for a palace does she sigh 
With rare old painting and tapestry. 
Nor an humble cottage with lowly wall. 
Nor the haughty pride of a stately hall ; 
For the loving, tender grace of home 
Is more than the palace, cot or dome. 

O bare were the walls, though decked with care 
If affection never flourished there ! 
And lonely each richly furnished room 
If love came not to light their gloom. 
Powerless the sweetest spot on earth 
If crumbling walls were its only worth ; 

But the threshold is worn by hurrying feet 
Whose pathways perhaps no more shall meet, 
And loving voices still perfume the air 
Like ghosts of dead roses hovering there; 
And smiles still blend with the sun-beams bright, 
And tears distill with the dews of night; 

And the vines o'er the moss-grown portals wound 
Have thrilled to the touch of a loving hand. 
And each tree and shrub in the garden's bowers 
Bears some time-worn record of childhood's hours ; 
And crowned over all in its undimmed grace 
The gentle light of a mother's face. 

[208] 



Forward beyond the wrecks of time 

Faith looks to another fairer dime 

Where no criimbHng shrines of lost happiness 

Shall dim the past with their bitterness, 

Where no vanished hand shall leave its trace 

Or love repine for a long lost face. 

Faith turns from sad Memory's crumbling dome 
And sings in her gladness : " Home, sweet Home !" 
Not for the streets of transparent gold 
Nor the pearly gateways backward rolled 
Nor the tree of Life, nor the river fair 
Nor the untold glories gathered there, 

Nor the many mansions ever bright 

In the beautiful realm where there is no night ; 

Not even the crown or the glittering throne 

Is the prize that lures to that better home. 

O Heaven, time were but barren dearth 

If gold and gems were thine only worth ! 

But brighter than all those towers above 

Is the haloed presence of sacred love. 

For those gates shall echo the eager feet 

And those courts resound when the ransomed meet, 

And those mansions ring from portal to dome 

When the wandering children are gathered home ; 

And crowned over all in matchless grace 

The glorious light of the Saviour's face. 

And the power that sways that world of bliss 

Is the power that makes a home in this ; 

But nevermore shall the pilgrims roam 

When they join in the angel's Home sweet Home. 



[209] 



MUSIC 

There is music in the woodlands 
When the birds their carols sing, 

As they flit about the old oaks 
Where the ivy tendrils cling. 

Warblers, orioles and linnets, 

Blue-birds with their brilliant hue ; 

While the sky-lark sings his sonnet 
In the sky's ethereal blue. 

Oh ! is any of the music 

That the listening ear has heard 
Half so pure and sweet and lovely 

As the singing of a bird? 

There is music in the meadows 

At the closing of the day, 
When the gentle cows are coming. 

Slowly, on their homeward way. 

Drinking from the singing brooklet, 

Cropping clover in the dells ; 
Listen ! is not this sweet music, 

Murmuring stream and tinkling bells? 

There is music in the forest, 

In the rustling of the trees. 
In the chattering of the squirrels, 

In the humming of the bees. 

Hark! the tall pine-trees are singing, 
Wailing forth their requiem, low; 

While the chipmunks clamber briskly 
O'er the mossy logs below. 

[210] 



There is music on the sea shore, 

Of the Httle waves at play ; 
While the stately ships are sailing 

O'er the waters far away. 

Wavelets o'er the rocks are dashing. 

Say, can any music be 
Sweeter than the waves' commotion 

Or the singing of the sea? 

There is music in the rain-drops 
Pattering forth their soft refrain. 

Dancing, spattering on the shingles. 
Coursing down the window-pane. 

Strange, weird music, what could better 
The fond dreamer's thought inspire. 

Listening to the tiny voices 

Of the storm-king's raindrop choir? 

There is music in the chiming 

Of the solemn Sabbath bells. 
Ringing forth to all a welcome 

Over hills and vales and dells, 

Calling to the house of worship. 
Telling us the worth of time, 

Praising God for all His goodness; 
Hear the distant church bells chime ! 

There is music in the voices 
Of the children at their play. 

Bird-like songs and rippling laughter 
From the dawn 'till twilight gray. 



[211] 



Is there any earthly music 

That is half so pure and sweet, 

As the children's merry voices 
Or the pattering of their feet? 

There is music in the voices 
Of the loved ones at our side, 

Those who tread life's pathway with us 
And who in our homes abide. 

Sweetest music, yet how often 

In life's busy bustling day. 
We forget to prize the singers 

'Till their songs have died away. 

Let us gather up earth's glories. 

Let us not refuse to hear 
The sweet sounds that cheer our pathway, 

Without which, earth would be drear. 

Let us listen to the music, 

Treasure it within the soul ; 
It will make us wiser, better. 

While the months and years roll. 

Let us notice Heaven's blessings, 
Thanking God for what we share ; 

If we will but pause to listen 
There is music everywhere. 



[212] 



FLOR DEL ESPIRITU SANTO 

Loitering, midst the tropic glory of a large conservatory 
Where the warm moist air was heavy with a cloud of rich 

perfume, 
I beheld a strange plant flowering, where the stately palms were 

towering, 
With a quaint, peculiar odor and an oddly fashioned bloom. 

Not the beauty of its color, nor the sweetness of its odor. 
Lured me to the unknov/n stranger, as above its bloom I bent. 
But a tiny dove perched quaintly, with an air serene and saintly 
In the heart of each odd blossom, nestling there in sweet content. 

O'er each opening bud I pondered, and in after moments 

wondered 
If each passer-by who saw it, learned its voiceless ministry; 
In each flower a revelation, a symbolic-like creation 
Of a heart where sweetly dwelleth the white dove of purity. 

From its native land they brought it, but a higher wisdom 

wrought it. 
For a high and nobler calling, rocks may preach and ripples sing ; 
But who from its sanctum turning, no grand lesson from it 

learning, 
Hears not eloquence in Nature, gains not good from everything. 

Odd dove orchid, silent preacher, thou hast come a living teacher 

Of the rarest human virtue, of the noblest excellence 

How these thronging thousands need you, but alas ! how few will 

heed you 
And their hearts' dark raven banish for the doves of innocence ! 



[213] 



ETHIOPIA 

Dark was her brow, and darker 

The depths of her Uquid eyes 

And her hair was dark as the blackness 

Of the moonless midnight skies, 

Her robe was the gorgeous colors 

Of the Tropic's brazen shield 

And costliest incense smoldered 

In its Isis folds concealed. 

Dawn, noontide and evening together wove 

The fabric she loved to wear 

And fashioned the rainbow crescent 

That shone in her midnight hair. 

As she clasped in her hot embraces 

And bore through the jungle wild 

To her tents in the tangled forest 

The cursed and homeless child. 

Darker then grew her visage 

And fiercer her deep eyes shone 

As the smoke from her pagan altars 

Curled over her ivory throne. 

And the nations quailed before her 

And trembled beneath her frown 

Nor dared to enter her empire 

Or gaze on her crescent crown, 

'Till desolate, feared, forgotten. 

She reigned in her realm alone 

With the cursed and homeless Canaan 

'Till they called her, the Great Unknown. 

Once the sweet singer of Israel 

Linked with his melody 

Of the pagan queen in her darkness 

A golden prophecy 



[214] 



That shone in the stars above her 
And gleamed from her pagan sod, — 
" Soon, soon shall proud Ethiopia 
Stretch forth her hands unto God." 

Dark grew her brow and darker 
Grew the darkness about her throne 
No ray pierced the midnight blackness 
No star in her midnight shone. 
The suns of the burning Tropics 
For centuries scorched her bloom 
But they strove in vain to lighten 
With one pale ray, her gloom. 
Lo ! in the listening ages 
From the chords where it slumbered long 
In the light of its glad fulfillment 
Awakes the prophetic song, 
'Tis sung by the stars above her, 
'Tis harped from her teeming sod 
Beautiful, dark Ethiopia 
Stretches her hands unto God. 

Lo ! she hath dashed her idols 
And her pagan altars down. 
Robed in her gorgeous garments 
Crowned with her crescent crown 
She stands with benighted Canaan, 
She turns from her gory sod 
She looks to the stars above her 
And stretches her hands unto God. 

A light on her midnight breaketh 
A brightening, growing light 
It darts through her gloom and slowly 
Illumines her fearful night, 



[215] 



Her scepter was stained with crimson 
Vice lurked in her smile to mar 
And over her glorious beauty 
Burned Crime's unsightly scar, 
And lo, from her pagan palace 
Girt 'round with its burning zone 
To his Father's righteous dwelling 
Canaan is coming home. 



EDEN 

Sweet Eden garden of delight 

Abode of innocence, 
Alas, that sin should ever blight 

Thy halcyon loveliness ! 

Amid thy bowers of fadeless Spring 

Love hastened to abide 
And Purity with spotless wing 

Dwelt ever at her side; 

In thee, the wild beast's savage power 

To gentleness was awed 
And in the cool of evening hour 

Was heard the voice of God. 

Rejoicing angels sang their psalms, 

Glad heralds of thy birth, 
And peace breathed through thy waving palms 

Thou emerald gem of earth ! 

Brightness and freshness, love and peace 

And changeless joy were thine 
O why should all thy promise cease 

Thy dawn so soon decline ! 



[216] 



Lost is thy dower of sweet content, 

Fallen thy matchless worth, 
Soon was thy day of glory spent 

Thou paradise of earth ! 

Sweet Eden, garden of deHght ! 

Great was thy sudden fall 
But Memory throughout Time's swift flight 

Oft doth thy charms recall. 

No more the joys of thy brief reign 

To thy dim aisles belong 
Yet doth thy beauty bloom again 

In Earth's immortal song. 



[217] 



WILL THERE BE NO FLOWERS IN HEAVEN? 

Will there be no flowers in heaven, 
No soul-like blossoms there 
In the land of the pure and lovely 
In the home of the good and fair ; 
Where all that is best and brightest 
In matchless splendor shall shine 
And night cannot lend one shadow 
To darken the courts divine? 

Will there be no flowers in heaven, 
Where the streets are paved with gold 
Where a moment reveals more glory 
Than the ages of earth unfold; 
Where the light is all too dazzling 
For earth-born eyes to view. 
Where harps are thrilling such music 
As this world never knew? 

Will there be no flowers in heaven? 

No flowers by the river's side? 

No lilies to bathe their pearly crowns 

In the spray of the crystal tide? 

No violets to lend their fragrance 

To perfume the balmy air. 

No roses to cling to the jasper walls 

And vie with the jewels there? 

Will there be no flowers in heaven? 
Would not heaven be incomplete 
With no wreaths of immortal freshness 
To cast at the Saviour's feet; 



[218] 



With no sprays of living beauty 
To droop o'er the streets of gold, 
With no gardens to blossom forever 
Untouched by earth's blight and mold? 

Ah ! there will be flowers in heaven 

In those realms of immortal bloom, 

But never as here shall they wither 

On a desolate, darkened tomb; 

We know not their forms or their fragrance, 

We know not their changeless years 

But we know they shall outshine the blossoms 

That gladden this vale of tears. 

Our beautiful earth-born blossoms ! 
Can imagination weave? 
Can mind in its silent chambers 
One missing charm conceive, 
That lost in their earthly glory 
Might spring from a holier sod 
And sprinkle with sweeter incense 
The glorious courts of God? 

No; to our limited vision 

They are fair as a seraph's song. 

One of the relics of Eden 

That still to our earth belong. 

We love them, oh, who would chide us 

For loving the few bright things 

That have not grown tired of our cold bleak world 

And flown on their soul-like wings! 



[219 



Beautiful flowers of heaven! 
They shall bloom in immortal youth, 
Holding within their spotless cups 
The bright dew-pearls of truth ; 
Wafting from out their petals fair 
The holy innocence of love, 
IMade lovelier for the adorning 
Of the glittering courts above. 

Never, never, to wither. 

Never to fade or blight. 

Nevermore to droop in sadness 

In a land of clouds and night; 

Bathed in eternal sunshine. 

Nurtured in heavenly soil. 

They shall bloom through unmeasured ages 

Where frost cannot come to spoil. 



[ 220 ] 



SABBATH BELLS 

Chime on, ye bells, ye Sabbath bells, 
O'er hill and vale and sea; 

Cease not thy music 'till the world 
And nations cease to be ! 

Chime on, I love thy solemn sound 

That tells the story old; 
The story that in Heaven begun 

And now on earth is told ! 

O Sabbath day, serene and calm. 
Thou art by Heaven blest! 

Thou art an emblem, peaceful day. 
Of an eternal rest ! 

O day of rest, we will not cease 
To welcome in thy morn ; 

Until for us in brighter worlds 
Eternal Sabbaths dawn ! 

'Till Heaven's glorious Sabbath bells 
Shall drown thy feeble ringing; 

Until the voices of this world 
Are lost in angels' singing. 



[221] 



THE GALLERY OF THE GREAT ARTIST 

'Tis not alone where from her towers Rome's antique 

grandeur flashes, 
'Tis not alone where Venice weeps o'er Art's immortal ashes, 
Nor yet where queenly Paris lies 
Or grey old London's smoke shall rise 
O'er countless generations; 

No boastful city's narrow walls can rival to contain it 
Like pagan altars, in its aisles, they dare alone profane it, 
Among its pictures, lo! they stand 
Until the Mighty Artist's hand 
Shall dash them down forever. 

Where is this matchless Gallery and who, ah, who hath seen 

it? 
Its corner-stone, the nadir is, its pinnacle the zenith. 
Its walls the Orient rainbow crowns, 
The Occident its distance bounds. 
The universe its limit. 

The skies, the hills, the depths He formed, all Nature His 

creation 
Whatever human skill hath done is but an imitation 
Of the grand pictures He hath swung 
In heights ethereal and hung 
Throughout the far horizon. 

Left by the fading glare of time untarnished nor duller. 
Retouched with every passing year with light and shade and 

color 
Immortal Artist, hand Divine, 
We turn from human skill to Thine 
And none is great beside Thee! 



[ 222 



Peasant and prince alike hold the key to these Thy treasures, 

The magic key that opens wide the door to purest pleasures, 

A mind alive to Nature's lore, 

A stretch of mountain, sky or shore, 

An eye not blind to beauty. 

A heart, to comprehend and love a universe infinite 
Or look upon a tiny flower and feel the grandeur in it, 
A grandeur only born of Thee, 
In all Thy works Thy love to see 
All human love excelling. 

This is the silver and the gold of which is formed the key 
That opens wide the golden gates to Thy great Gallery 
Each perfect picture Thou didst frame 
Engraven with Thy deathless name 
Illumined with Thy glory. 



[223] 



THE HARVEST 

("The harvest is the end of the world; and the 
reapers are the angels.'" — Matt. 13:39.) 

Fallen upon the great field of the world, 

Sown in corruption, germs that cannot die; 

Perished in Africa's dark wilderness, 

Lost in Alaska's frozen snows to lie 

Forgotten germs of immortalit}'. 

Thus to be out of sight and being, hurled. 

Buried as Moses was in tombs unknown. 

Save to the pitying angels who stand by. 

Guards of the dust, 'till from the o'er-arching sky 

Shall sound the voice of God, 

The great, "Come forth!" 

Then from the North 

From frozen sepulchers. 

And from the South 

From arid deserts, lo, the dearth and drought 

Of land and ocean unto God shall 3'ield, 

Tares and bright grain from earth's great harvest-field. 

From sun to sun 

To curse the beautiful, the good to spoil, 

Walketh the evil one. 

Sound forth your glad evangels. 

Ye who toil. 

That golden sheaves may from the hallowed soil 

Be gathered home. 

Soon come the reaper angels. 

And a voice like many waters, mighty thunderings 

Shall sound from heaven, 'till earth awakened rings. 



[224] 



And all the hills rejoice 

With alleluias and thank-offerings 

Of praise, and in her valleys 

Is heard the sound of morning angels' wings; 

Earth clouds dissolve, and earthly glory waneth. 

And the Lord God, the King immortal reigneth. 



THE HEAVENLY JERUSALEM 

Not a vast realm of haloed space 

Where mellow beams soft shadows chase 

And seas of loveliness unrolled 

Gush out in streams of liquid gold, 

Where forms invisible abide, 

Where throngs of spirit-saints reside, 

Where unseen choirs glad anthems swell. 

Weird, shapeless and intangible. 

Wrought from the twilight's filmy threads, 

Woven with Mystery's silken shreds, 

Not such a labyrinth as this 

Shall be the goal of happiness, 

O not in such a dream-like spell 

Shall the redeemed forever dwell ! 

There is a City builded in the skies 

Where glory never fades or beauty dies, 

We know not where its matchless joys unfurl, 

We cannot see one massive gate of pearl ; 

But real as any citadel of ours 

Eternal sunshine bathes its burnished towers. 

Her twelve foundations all of precious stones 

Purer than any gem in Glory's throne 

Shall stand unshaken in their wondrous plan 

When crumbled lie the mightiest works of man. 



[225] 



THE THREE COMFORTERS 

A little Job of modern years 

Sat down in life's Sahara 

In ashes, and such bitter tears 

As filled the pools of Mara, 

When in there came as come they must 

Three friends as wise as sages 

To little Jobs who sit in dust 

Through all the troubled ages. 

The first said: "Why do you repine? 

I sing with sorrows doubled. 

If you had griefs and cares like mine 

Why then you might be troubled." 

The next said : "Look around you, dear, 

And see how others suffer, 

Your neighbor's life is far more drear, 

How many paths are rougher." 

The third who was of stoic turn 

Remarked in tone sarcastic : 

"Control yourself as I, and learn 

To not be quite so plastic," 

Then little Job was left alone. 

When from life's battle scarry 

Came one with gentle look and tone 

Who said : "I am so sorry." 

And little Job has lived to see 

One weep, 'midst suffering neighbors 

And she who sang triumphantly 

Stop singing at her labors. 

And she of strong and stoic will 

Too hard and cold for human. 

While little Job is growing still 

A sweeter, wiser woman. 

And she who wiped her tears away 

In paths serene and starry 

[ 226 ] 



The only one of all to-day 

For whom she is not sorry; 

And little Job has found a key 

She will not lose to-morrow 

The heart's gold key is — sympathy, 

Its iron door — human sorrow. 

And she will take the Christ-like task 

To comfort all who suffer 

Not even taking time to ask 

If some paths are not rougher. 

Not even telling of her trust 

That walks serene and starry, 

Until her lips have whispered first 

That golden key — "I'm sorry." 



[227] 



THE ORCHARD CALL 

Come, 'tis the voice of the blue-bird, come to the flowery 
orchard 
In her bridal garment dressed. 
Pink and white cloud-folds swaying, with the sportive sun- 
beams playing 
Or frolicsome winds caressed ; 
Come, 'tis the warbler calling, come, 'tis the blossoms falling 
Promising all the rest. 

Delicate little pledges, white with their tinted edges 

Scented with faint perfume, 
Or rosy as dawning brightness, or pure in their waxen 
whiteness, 
Some in their perfect bloom. 
Some to pink buds just swelling, some falling, but all 
foretelling 
A banquet yet to come. 

Come, 'tis the blue-bird screaming, up from the still air 
teeming 
With honey and bumble bees. 
Come from the rush and riot, come to the shady quiet 

Under the orchard trees; 
Where through the rainless Summer, each warm and weary 
comer 
Is fanned by the gentle breeze. 

Come to the banquet waiting, of Dame Nature's own creating 

Spread in her spacious halls, 
Come to the garnered sweetness, come to the rich repleteness 

Brightening her fruitful walls, 
Come for the viands are wasting, 'tis the voice of the grosbeak 
tasting 

The rosy peach, as he calls. 

[228] 



Come to the glowing cherries, come to the bright black-berries 

Draping the orchard fence, 
Come to the apples blushing, come to the nectar flushing 

The pear's luxuriance; 
Apricots ripe and yellow, peaches juicy and mellow 

Plums in their leafy tents. 

Come, 'tis the voice of the blue-bird, come to the fruitful 
orchard 

Come, 'tis the warbler's song. 
Come, 'tis the blue-jay calling, come, 'tis the grosbeak trilling 

The orchard boughs among. 
Come, 'tis the bees inviting, buzzing, sipping, alighting 

Midst the feasting, feathered throng. 



[229] 



SONG— BECAUSE I LOVE HER SO 

Because I love her so 

I wander through these leafy walks alone, 

Drawn are the dewy draperies of Dusk, 

A shower of fragrance by the wind is thrown, 

The heart-throbs of a mighty surging throng 

Beat in one breast and wreathe themselves in song, 

A song of swords that clash, of foes that meet, 

The right so bitter and the wrong so sweet. 

CJwrus 
Because I love her so 
To win her scorn I go 
And she will never know 
It was because I loved her so. 

For well, too well I know 

That she will turn from me with strange alarm, 

She will not see my duty or my love 

That draws her back from present happiness 

My love's fond arm of strong unselfishness, 

Alas ! I cannot hope that she will know 

'Tis only just because I loved her so ! 

Chorus 
Because I love her so, etc., 

Because I love her so 
How can I warn her of her danger near, 
The danger that so like a blessing seems 
And oh, her love is dear! 



[230 



Dearer than you can guess, 

But is it dearer than her happiness? 

My heart beats fast, my laggard feet move slow 

Because I love her so. 

Choriis 
Because I love her so, etc., 

Because I love her so 
A broader love than narrow selfishness, 
A higher and a deeper love I see, 
Her love for me, her present happiness 
Weigh these against her life's abiding good. 
The welfare of her high sweet womanhood 
Outweighs them both ; with beating heart I go 
To win her hate because I love her so. 

Chorus 
Because I love her so, etc.. 

Perhaps sometime, somewhere, 

I shall see how I have been brave and strong, 

I, who so strangely weak and faltering seem. 

And sweet shall be the song 

Of Love's sweet sacrifice, of Love's return 

When from the records angels keep we learn — 

To have been true and self-forgetful proved 

Was better and sweeter than to have been loved. 

Chorus 
Because I love her so, etc., 



[231] 



LINES TO THE OCEAN 

Old Ocean, none knoweth thy story; 

Man cannot thy secrets unfold, 
Thy blue waves sing songs of thy glory 

But where are thy treasures untold? 

Are they hidden away in the mosses 
And sea-weed that covers thy bed? 

O tell us, where are all our losses, 

Our gold and our gems and our dead? 

O where are the loved ones who perished. 
Who found in thy bosom their grave? 

O where are the fond hopes so cherished 
That sank 'neath thy cold, cruel wave? 

Ships loaded with jewels unnumbered 
Have sunk in thy waters from sight. 

While passengers, e'en while they slumbered, 
Were lost in thy cold cheerless night. 

Down deep in thy depths they are buried. 
No more on the earth will they shine. 

Far, far, from our reach they are carried 
To rest in the Ocean's vast mine. 

Thou hast them, old Ocean, and mortals 
Can never take from thee thy prey; 

In thee did they find the tomb's portals, 
And none knew the spot where they lay. 



[232] 



None knoweth? One sees where they slumber, 
And greater than thine is His will ; 

He seeth thy gems without number, 
He speaks and thy breakers are still. 

There is One who hath had in all ages, 

Dominion o'er sea and o'er land; 
He ruleth the sea when it rageth, 

He holdeth the deep in his hand. 

Roll on, chilly wave and fierce breaker. 
And guard the vast stores of thy bed ; 

'Till at the command of their Maker, 
The waters shall give up their dead. 



[233] 



THE BLIND MUSICIAN 

Lightly over the ivory keys 

The white hands move in their measured grace, 

But never a note the player sees 

Or the light aglow in an upturned face. 

Thoughts are afloat on the river of song 
Like golden boats with transparent oars 
As swiftly, sadly, sweetly along 
The winding flood in its grandeur pours. 

There are ripples now and then in the stream 
And cascades that dash on the rocks below 
But the oars keep time to the one grand theme 
That ever blends with the river's flow. 

There are vessels afloat on the changing tide 
That never were launched from a rugged coast 
And phantom barques o'er the cascades glide 
That only the river of song can boast ; 

And fairy yachts o'er the ripples play 

And nymphs and naiads and mermaids throng 

To lave in the cascade's silvery spray 

In the beautiful, beautiful river of song. 

Does she see them all as she sits apart. 
From the listening crowd in the hall below? 
For the blind have windows of soul and heart 
That only God and the angels know. 

Veiled is the outer sense of sight 

Darkness and blackness from all outside 

But it never, never can be night 

Whence such wondrous streams of music glide. 

[234] 



Like the feathered songster's richer strain 
When by cruel hands deprived of sight, 
So grander tones in harmonic train 
Flow sweetly forth from life's sad blight. 

O blind musician! thy day is night, 
Not even the moon, so pensive pale, 
Inspires thy notes as with sheeny light 
The evening song of the nightingale. 

And we go forth to the day — the day 
With its wealth of sunshine broad and free 
O, our very lives should glide away 
As strong and sweet as thy melody ! 



235 



ECCLESIASTES 

King Solomon walked in his garden fair 

'Midst the glory of tree and vine, 

And beautiful flowers and fruits were there 

And globules of purple wine, 

And waters that sparkled crystal clear, 

And voices of those that sing. 

And notes from psaltery and harp to cheer 

The heart of the sad old King. 

King Solomon, why are thine eyes downcast 

And thy countenance strangely sad, 

Wisdom and riches and power thou hast 

Enough to make hundreds glad. 

Is there anything more that the heart requires 

Than wisdom and power and gold 

To purchase the happiness it desires? 

Thy possessions are manifold. 

There are princely palaces built for thee 

Thou hast royal robes and a throne 

And thine is the grandest pageantry 

That a King has ever known. 

With costly viands and nectar rare 

Is thy regal banquet spread. 

And pleasure and music and mirth are there 

And a crown is on thy head. 



[236 



But Solomon thought not of glory then. 

He had cast life's best things aside, 

He had lived for self like many men 

And he was not satisfied ; 

On his brow was the shadow of discontent 

In his breast was a heavy pain, 

And in grief and sorrow his head was bent 

As he said : "All things are vain." 

Ah ! sad old King, there are many more 
Who are living to say with thee 
The things that a selfish greed secure 
Are nothing but vanity ; 

And that bread on the waters of kindness cast 
And the keeping of God's commands. 
After many days shall return at last 
Reward to the toiler's hands. 



[237] 



THE VOICE OF THE CLOCK 

"Tick, tick, tick," for many a long, long year 

The old clock has welcomed the birth of the hours 

And mourned when their end drew near, 

And still it sings its changeless tune, the same note o'er and 

o'er 
But its language is changed for it tells me to-day 
That I am a child no more. 
And the message is not an unwelcome one 
For the real race is only begun 
And yet the old clock's settled decree 
Wakes the solemn voices of Memory 
And a sober coloring dims the light 
As a rainbow of childhood fades from sight. 
Where has it gone and when did it go? 
The glimmering tints in that transient bow 
Have melted away in some dreamland sea 
But its image still lives in memory 
And comes and comes and comes again 
In shapes of pleasure and shapes of pain ; 
For childhood is not all gladness and joy 
But purest gold mixed with base alloy. 
And children's troubles to them are as real 
As the greatest trials their elders feel. 

"Tick, tick, tick," hark! the children's voices float 

And intrude on that well known note, 

Out in the sunshine they laugh and leap 

While the old clock and I our vigil keep 

O'er the old-time dreamings cold and dead, 

O'er the joys and sorrows of moments fled. 

O'er thoughts of forgotten Summer-times, 

O'er Winters that came with their Christmas chimes, 

O'er friends and farewells, o'er smiles and tears 

And the many phases of by-gone years; 

[238] 



They are gone but the future shines brightly yet 
To illumine my path and I will not let 
The regret for my loss undervalue my gain 
For well I know though Youth's sun may wane 
There is work in which old and young can engage 
And blessings alike for youth and old age. 
Childhood like a rippling brooklet speeds 
Through a tangled meadow of flowers and weeds, 
Then swells to a deeper, broader tide 
And the creek rushes down the mountain side 
And grows to a river broad and deep 
Where the song of the creek and brooklet sleep 
Swallowed up in the voice of a mighty flood, 
As the full blown rose absorbs the bud, 
And gaining more depth and sublimity 
'Till lost in the ocean — eternity. 

"Tick, tick, tick," my old, old friend's voice is still clear 

Though for many, many a year 

That same solemn voice has warned the gay 

That the moments were swiftly gliding away, 

Has tolled the refrain of the funeral knell, 

Has echoed the sound of the marriage bell, 

Has chanted from dawn 'till the shadows creep 

And kept faithful watch when the house was asleep. 

"Tick, tick, tick, be quick, be quick, be quick 

What is to be done must be done in haste 

There is not a single moment to waste 

For though time may seem to drag slowly on 

Before you will know it, time will be gone 

And then comes eternity." 

Thus the old clock seems to speak to me 

And then in a deeper tone repeats, 

"How swiftly the little brooklet fleets 

Childhood, sweet childhood can come no more 

Look for the flowers on the river's shore." 

But a new thought thrills me, the old clock's voice. 

[239] 



GATHER THE WILD FLOWERS 

Gather the wild flowers from sunniest slopes, 
Bring them to me with their wealth of perfume, 
Cheering as happiness, charming as hope; 
What varied phases of joy they assume! 

Gather the wild flowers, a crown I would wreathe, 
Crown thee a queen on this gray, mossy stone ; 
Did ever princess a purer air breathe? 
Had ever queen a more beautiful throne? 

Gather the wild flowers beneath the tall trees. 
Bright wayside beauties and gems from the lake. 
Rare floral bells from the arched canopies 
What lovely garlands their bright faces make ! 

Sweet woodland children, ye bloom for a day, 
Symbols of love and bright emblems of trust ; 
Twilight falls softly, ye wither away. 
Other days dawn, ye have moldered to dust. 

In the rich garden a gorgeous array 

Coquette with sunbeams through long Summer hours. 

But a less generous master have they, 

These rustic treasures are God's own free flowers, 

Gather the wild flowers for rich and for poor, 
Lowliest cottage or stateliest hall, 
Childhood and old age their bright smiles allure, 
Free as the sunbeams, they blossom for all. 



[240] 



Gather the wild flowers, Spring's purest pleasure, 
Beautiful harvest for little brown hands, 
Singing and laughing o'er each new-found treasure 
Let your glad voices float over all lands. 

And when some Spring day, all peaceful and still 
Calmly I sleep where the tall grasses wave. 
While the warm sunbeams kiss river and hill 
Gather the wild flowers to lay on my grave. 



[241 



EMPTY NESTS 

Rocked on many a bending bough 
Empty nests are swaying now 

In the Autumn wind, 
Hanging o'er the cool cascade, 
Hidden in the hazel shade, 
Nests that loving skill has made 

Soon to leave behind. 

From the leafy twigs around 
Once was borne the joyous sound 

Of the wild bird's voice. 
Pouring out his little soul 
In melodious notes that roll 
Alerrily from knoll to knoll 

Bidding all rejoice. 

Long ago the birds have flown 
And the little nests alone, 

Rocking to and fro. 
Time a silent mournful strain 
While the wandering winds complain 
And the leaves their sad refrain 

Whisper faint and low. 

And I think of one lone nest 
Where a birdling used to rest 

In the joyous Spring, 
Now when Autumn decks the lands 
Rocked no more by loving hands 
Lo, an empty cradle stands 

Where they used to sing. 



[242] 



THE CRY OF THE SOUL 

I have done the best I could, O Lord ! 

Yet my cramped life writhes in pain 

For the Worid's cold, proud, high estimates 

Press over my heart like leaden weights, 

'Tis so little I can attain, 

Is it nothing worth to be sweet and good, 

To grasp opportunities fleet and few. 

To broaden my intellect's narrow view. 

To be glad and earnest and brave and true? 

Is there nobler womanhood 

Than to live and live when 'twere rest to die, 

To smile and sing when I long to cr>'? 

Is it nothing at all, O Lord, 

That my soul has striven with every sin, 

Has struggled and striven alone to win 

Victory over the rebel, — Me 

That longs, so longs for liberty 

From this narrow, cramped, dull sphere ! 

I have tried not to utter one sad complaint 

That a burdened world could hear, 

But help me, my Lord, lest at last I faint 

With the burden I cannot bear ; 

What's the slights of a world if Thy hand doth bles 

Be Thy holy angels my witnesses, 

I have done the best I could; 

Like a little child from its moment's grief 

I would rest in Thee 'till a sweet relief 

Steals over my soul, O Lord! 



[243] 



OUR WALK 

Ashley and Edward and I, 
Did you see we three go by ? 
Ashley who walks like a little king 
And Edward who looks at everything? 
We are taking a walk, good-bye, good-bye. 
Ashley and Edward and I. 

We scare the grasshoppers out of the grass 
The frogs will croak as they see us pass 
And the daisies look up and smile and bow. 
Ah ! little snail, we have found you now. 
Look out little snail or you'll bump your eye. 
We are taking a walk, good-bye, good-bye. 

And there is a cow with horns, alas ! 
She will hook us sure if we try to pass, 
I wish she had eyes on her horns and then 
When she saw us coming she'd draw them in 
She'd be so afraid we might bump her eye, — 
She never looked up ! good-bye, good-bye. 

We have had such a pleasant walk to-day 
Now we're going home by another way, 
We are hungry and tired and our hair's uncurled 
But we've seen a piece of God's great wide world, 
And there's Mamma making cookies and pie 
For Ashley and Edward and L 



[244 



THE MAIDEN'S LAMENT TO HER FALSE LOVER 

I have flown from you like a wounded bird 

With a crimson stain on its innocent breast 

To a land all new 

To a sky more blue 

A Summer of sunshine and flowers and dew, 

And once again shall my song be heard 

With its added undertone of pain 

And my innocent breast with its crimson stain 

Shall fill and gurgle with song again. 

I shall not die of your cruel dart 

I shall live, I shall live to be happy yet 

Though your arrow pierced near my glad young heart 

I shall live and sometime I shall forget; 

God rules and reigns and is over all 

And with my Father I cannot fall, 

The world is too beautiful, God too just, 

I shall shake from my spirit the lower dust. 

Nearer, nearer Heaven in this upper clime 

I shall soar and sing o'er the wrecks of Time, 

And you in the groveling dust of things 

Where an angel would shudder to trail her wings. 

You, starving your soul for its natal food 

And chaining your soul from its highest good 

May hear a voice far above your aim. 

You may look and wonder and name my name 

When you hear the echo of some high strain 

That is born of triumph o'er sin and pain, 

Purer, clearer, more high, more calm 

An earthly dirge born an angel psalm 

You may look and listen and see me again, 

The little bird with its happy heart 

That you pierced one day with your cruel dart, 

Singing a song that is born of pain 

On its innocent breast no crimson stain. 

[245] 



MY DUTY 

There's one thing left me from the toil and fret 

Hopes, plans, ambitions, failures of existence, 

One thought, that over every life-regret 

Rises each morning with the day-dawn's Constance : 

It is my duty — plain and homely word — 

And yet before its priceless, hidden beauty 

The noblest heart is stirred; 
For from the lowly unseen glory of 
Earth's unrecorded halo of good deeds 
Bloom forth life's highest liberty and love. 

And slaves whose creeds 
Of freedom from all duty made them slaves 
To their own evil natures (tyrant masters) 
Would not be bound in chains from sun to sun 
If every day's plain duty had been done. 

Each day my duty plain before me lies, 
No shifting scene of unrealities 
But a sweet, high and noble plan or way. 
To scorn the wrong and do the right to-day. 
O, if for man 

Self-aggrandizement, pleasure, gain, avail 

How shall we fail 
To reach in this life the eternal plan? 
But if to choose between the wrong and right, 
The darkness and the light. 
Then every little life within its scope 
Shall every day have hope. 



[246] 



Draw back the veil and look upon the throng 
Of those who sing the new, immortal song; 
By faith their robes washed white and spotless are, 

And yet of mighty worth before 
God's judgment bar 
Stand forth the deeds that they have done on earth. 

No crown that's worth the winning 
But was won 

By truth and trust, 
The gilded flaunting livery of sinning 
Sprang from and shall return unto the dust. 

And I remember One who lived to bless 
Who counted duty more than happiness, 
Who spared not talents, time. His own life-blood. 
Who went about this sad world doing good; 
Yes, I remember One who spite of swords 
Of clashing arguments and warring words 
To-day is King of Kings and Lord of Lords. 



[247] 



BURDEN-BEARING 

It is only another burden to lay rejoicing down 

When we change earth's weary crosses for Heaven's unfading 

crown, 
Is it worth the while to murmur, to worry, fret or frown? 

O for a cheerful spirit when the way is void of cheer ! 
O for a hope to anchor amid life's deep of fear ! 

for a trust that waiteth 'till all things are made clear ! 

1 will take up my heavy burden and carry it all to Thee, 
Thou who alone canst help me to bear it rejoicingly, 

I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me. 
"As our conflicts, so our conquests," is the motto of the brave 
That the hand of Time's engraver doth indelibly engrave 
In the solid stones of striving that the path of progress pave. 



ALICE 

To the white stone that 'neath its lily crest 

Bears thy sweet name in silent marble cut, 

I come, dear sister, now a transient guest. 

To the dim portals that forever shut 

Your face from sight, your hand from Love's warm hold, 

Your gentle voice that mist-like hovers near; 

O Earth, guard well our treasure, more than gold 

Is the fair jewel that thou keepest here! 

Love for her lost comes here with no vague quest. 

But only waits the waking from thy rest. 

Lighter her hands grasped Earth's decaying things, 

While stronger grew her Soul's immortal wings; 

O Grave, thou boldest but the mortal dust 

Of her we loved, whom we shall ever love, 

Safe in the beauty of her living trust! 



[248 



CITY AND COUNTY 

I love the country's restful quiet 
Each sunny hill and shady glen, 

I love the city's rush and riot 
The busy haunts of men. 

There is a charm in Nature's hush 
Serene and thoughtful, cool and sweet, 

A fascination in the rush 
Along the crowded street. 

There are a thousand depths of thought 

In Nature's silent reservoirs, 
And countless useful lessons taught 

Amid the city's noise. 

My thoughts rise up in praise to God 
When I behold His vast estate. 

The progress of mankind applaud 
And count his triumphs great. 

Thus each sweet wild-flower at my feet 
Hath its own subtle ministry 

And every stranger face I meet 
Its mute philosophy. 

And so where'er my feet have trod 
Pleasure and profit I can find ; 

I love the mighty works of God 
And the great triumphs of mankind. 



[249] 



THE BURNING BUILDING 

Unearthly monster that with fiery eyes 

In anger glaring 
Mocks sullenly the looks and hopeless cries 

Of deep despairing, 
Art thou a demon from whose evil heart 

Roll fire and ashes 
'Till to destruction every writhing part 

Thine anger dashes? 
Morn saw thy walls in strength and beauty stand 

And rich with treasure, 
Eve shall behold thy smoldering ashes fanned 

In fiendish pleasure. 
With crash on crash, the solid hold gives way 

Of beam and rafter 
While the fierce flames devour their helpless prey 

With mocking laughter, 
Great oceans lock the gates along their shores 

While blazing structures totter 
Rivers and lakes are sealed though man implores 

The blessed boon of water, 
Cool clouds float overhead but powerless all 

The raindrops beating — 
None saw the mystic writing on the wall 

'Till Hope's defeating. 
A hurried sound, the victor's final blow 

Resounding loudly, 
A death-like hush and all is lying low 

That rose so proudly; 
Blighted and blasted like a fragile flower 

Consumed e'en as it flashes, 
Unconquered foe, recorded is thy power 

In dust and ashes. 
Ah ! still the hand that on Belshazzar's walls 



[250 



Doomed grandeur's station 
In lines of flame on human glory falls 

With plain interpretation ; 
Lo, thus shall perish with consuming heat 

All earthly treasure 
Before whose ashes yet shall pause the feet 

Of reckless pleasure. 



OUR GOD 

Behind the wheels that human aim must move. 
Beneath all truths, which only cannot fall, 
Beyond all human faith and human love, 
Builder and great inventor of them all 
Is God. 

He sees the mighty workings of His plans. 
He knows the hands that toil with Christian zeal, 
With wisdom all our humble work He scans. 
Our failures, our successes none can feel 
Like God. 

And where He sees a want, a real need. 
In His great work, a fair field left unsown. 
He sends some toiler with the golden seed, 
To willing hearts His purposes are shown. 
Our God ! 



[251] 



THE BILLOW'S ANSWER 

Not all unanswered now — the question of my soul 

Asked of the cliff's age-furrowed brow, — lost in the billow's roll- 

For softer, grander, than human speech 

Are the answering thoughts, that soothe and teach. 

Thoughts launched by God, like sea- weed thrown 

On the restless waves of Life's great unknown; 

Cast up on Life's wave- washed beach. 

Pure, calm, as a dove to its sheltered nest. 

My answer came on the wave's white crest. 

The question: this w^as the troubled thing 

A mourning dove — with a broken wing. 

"Tell me, O billows, that roll on roll. 

Speak more than all things to the human soul ! 

Why must one spirit feel every dart 

That has thrust the body or pierced the heart? 

Mental and physical, heart and brain 

Is there left one link in Life's golden chain 

That has not quivered with human pain?" 

The answer: this was the heavenly thing 
A peaceful dove with silvered wing 
That fluttered down from the billow's crest 
And crossed its wings on a troubled breast — 
" Thou art given the priceless jeweled key. 
That unlocks the great heart of humanity ; 
Thou hast felt their labor, their strife, their pain. 
Their weary heartaches, their grief and care ; 
Their bitter struggles and dark despair. 
May not one knock at thy door in vain ! 



[252] 



O little dove with thy folded wings ! 

O billows, that utter such wondrous things ! 

Ye are thoughts from God, let Him send at choice, 

The ocean thunder, the still small voice; 

If they speak from One, who alone can know 

The height and the depth of our human woe ; 

Who has felt each pang of our mortal breath, 

Sin's serpent-fang and the night of death, 

And Who o'er the waves of Life's troubled sea 

Calls to the suffering : " Come unto Me." 



SPRING. 

Awake, for earth is waking. 
Sing, for all nature sings ; 
The year's bright morning breaking 
Calls to all living things. 

Trees, flowers and birds, 'tis dawning 
A daybreak bright and glad ; 
Arouse sad hearts, 'tis morning. 
Why should a soul be sad? 

The clouds their white robes trailing 
Through seas of blue are borne; 
The winds have hushed their wailing, 
The skies have ceased to mourn. 

And only tears of gladness 
O'erflow heaven's starry eyes; 
And smiles undimmed with sadness 
Light up the perfect skies. 



[253] 



HOW PERRIM TRIL\TED THE GIRLS 

The boys said Perrim was " rattled." 
The girls said : " He's awful, oh dear !" 
The men said : " He's surely half-witted" 
And the ladies said : " Yes, it is clear 
The young man is very peculiar. 
Not over-well balanced, we fear." 
Poor Perrim, the world had decided 
That he was peculiarly queer. 

And why? He was gifted with language, 

His speeches were lengthy and loud. 

He invented new words on occasions 

Of which Webster might have been proud, 

'■' My forefathers and my foremothers," 

He shouted — ^the giggle-heads bowed; 

When he mentioned, " dr>- land and dry water 

There was not a dr}- eye in the crowd. 

The young people gave a dime social 
With coffee and cake and ice-cream, 
And Perrim prepared to attend it 
Being overly fond of the theme. 
To take some young lady to supper, 
Ah ! this was the crown of the dream. 
But alas ! ver\' often things are not 
So easily done as they seem. 

He asked a young lady in ribbons 
Who looked most alluringly sweet 
She answered with modest demeanor : 
" So sorr}', but promised to meet 



[254 



A friend, in such haste," the girl next her 
Answered him : " She never did eat." 
Though Perrim was still bent on treating 
He did not intend to retreat. 

The next one thought ice-cream was "horrid, 
And laughed showing tsvo rows of pearls, 
And one had a terrible headache 
And pressed her gloved hand to her curls. 
But though they all openly snubbed him 
He was none the less fond of the girls ; 

So as each smiling girl with her escort 

Departed to bounties below 

Perrim pondered and proved as he pondered 

That his odd brain at least was not slow 

As alone, but with manner triumphant 

To supper he hastened to go — 

" Two dozen ice-creams," was his order 

And the maidens who sold it said : " Oh !" 

Then softly he stepped up behind her 
The girl who had been in such haste 
As she sat with her beau at the table 
All radiant in ribbons and lace. 
Her half-eaten dish quick removing 
He set a full dish in its place 
And stood there, her ice-cream devouring 
With a triumphant grin on his face. 

And the maiden who lived without eating 
And the one who was (strange to recall) 
Now eating the cream she detested 



[255] 



Brave Perrim, he conquered them all 
'Till with his ice-cream were provided 
Two-thirds of the girls in the hall. 

The young men glared angrily at him 

As gaily he gobbled his theft 

And the girls, why of course, the girls giggled 

As he swallowed the cream they had left, 

And on "the dry land or dry water" 

Had such a sight never been seen 

By his " forefathers " or his " foremothers " 

And some beside Perrim looked green. 

The thing was a dreadful enigma 

But one fact was plain in its whirls 

The boys had all treated Perrim 

And Perrim had treated the girls. 



" BE SURE YOUR SIN WILL FIND YOU OUT 

Do you think, oh shrewd deceiver. 
Because your well-laid plan. 
For the death of a fellow-being. 
Or the wreck of a fellow-man, 
Was plotted alone at midnight, 
When not a soul was about, 
And carried out in secret. 
That it will not find you out ? 

You have given it breath and being. 

You have given it wings to fly ; 

It has gone forth a black-winged raven 

To follow you 'till you die. 

Like Poe's, it will knock on your chamber door, 

It will haunt you the earth about, 

It will trouble your peace at the midnight hour. 

Be sure it will find you out. 

[ 256 ] 



THE STATUE 

She stands where multitudes assembling 
Cast at her feet their flatteries, 

Pulseless, amid the throbbing, trembling 
Of human nerves and arteries. 

The sculptured marble at her feet 
Is swept by folds of shimmering satin 

And careless silvery tongues repeat 
Her motto's gilded Latin. 

Wealth is her daily, hourly guest, 

Want at her shrine delights to linger; 

None leave her presence cursed or blessed 
By one fair, faultless, frozen finger. 

Despair, in gaiety's disguise 
From the dark alleys of the city 

Writhing in guilt's dread agonies 

Wakes in her breast, no scorn, no pity. 

None, common sisterhood may claim 
For sympathy in sorrow's story, 

Of all whose beauty is her fame 
Whose image is her glory. 

Curses and prayers are one to her. 

Virtue and vice, and woe, and gladness 

Fail in her stony heart to stir 
Throbbings of joy or sadness. 

Fever may never flush her cheek 
Or pain distort her chiseled features 

And stony cold the lips that speak 

No word to cheer her fellow-creatures. 



[257 



To her, love, sorrow, want, may turn 
But vain and useless their appealing; 

Why should she human sorrow learn 
Who hath no smile of healing? 

O beautiful, proud masterpiece 

On whom all eyes in joy are gazing! 

O queenly form! O angel face, 

Whose symmetry all lips are praising! 

Are there not some who pass thee by 
In whose frail form thy stone is molded, 

Whose prayer is like a smothered cry 
Forever in their hearts close folded ? 

To watch the sun of day decline 

Like thee, with orbs of stony blindness. 

With features as unmoved as thine, 
To taste the bitter of unkindness ? 

To drink no more with trembling lips 
The bitter, brimming cup of anguish 

'Midst the dark shades of life's eclipse 
No more in fear and dread to languish ? 

Unmarred by age or care to keep 

Youth's molded form. Youth's chiseled beauty, 
Above no cruel bonds to weep 

That hold them slave to love or duty? 

To answer love with stony gaze, 

And hate with calm and mute defiance 

Unmoved, unchanged by slight or praise 
Strong in a nerveless self-reliance? 



[258] 



O sculptor ! well thy task is done 
Unto the dead existence giving; 

So marvelous that lifeless stone 
Becomes the envy of the living. 

O statue ! sinless, heartless, blind, 
Mock, pity, hate us who are human; 

No sufferer in thee may find 

The sympathy and love of woman. 

Better to know pain's cruel rack, 
To feel life's fiery furnace fever 

Than bloodless, nerveless, live and lack 
The heart's high hope, the soul's endeavor. 

Better to feel remorse's pangs 

And vain regrets and dark despairing. 

And slander's poison serpent fangs, 

And see earth's wrong and see it, caring, 

Than never know the recompense 
Of earnest toil and noble striving, 

Than never feel in holiest sense 

The love, the hope, the joy of living. 

Better to welcome age with brow 
Grown furrowed in the path of duty 

Than stand as thou art standing now 
In statuesque and useless beauty. 

Who'd be a statue wrought of gold 
Worthy the worship of a pagan. 

Glistening with jewels manifold, 
Costlier far than Baal or Dagon? 



[259] 



THE WHITE CRANE 

Spread out thy ivory wings, bird of the waters, 
In shades the willow flings, some foeman loiters. 
Tempting the trout that swim 
Under the boulder grim. 
Yet by the river's rim 
Wait the sly plotters, 
Thou in the distance dim 
Bird of the waters 

Far down the placid stream fold each wide pinion, 

Or where in distance screams thy lone companion, 

Lonely beside her nest 

In her white garments dressed. 

Stainless her faithful breast. 

Or in the canyon 

Midst the tall ferns to rest 

Fold each wide pinion. 

Oft have I watched thy tall form by the river, 
Where the long willows fall that the winds shiver, 
Stately, majestic, lone. 
Perched on a low-washed stone 
With mosses overgrown, 
By skill so clever 
Catching the fish that come 
Down the clear river. 

Where is thy lonely nest deep in seclusion? 
Where mayst thou turn to rest safe from intrusion? 
Where is thy hidden haunt, 
Secure from fear or want, 



[260] 



Close by some ferny font 
Far from confusion, 
Shut in by tree-trunks gaunt, 
Deep in seclusion? 

O, in some distant marsh, midst the tall grasses 

Where thy cry shrill and harsh through the trees passes, 

Where the bright musk-flowers bloom, 

Shedding their quaint perfume. 

Flaming the twilight gloom, 

No stranger guesses 

Where folds each ivory plume 

Midst the tall grasses! 

Art thou a hermit lone, stranger so stately, 
Long to our stream unknown, coming so lately 
Venturing forth for food 
Vainly our gaze elude? 
Some with intent most rude 
To harm thee greatly 
On thy calm peace intrude 
Stranger so stately. 

Back then lone anchorite, bird of the waters. 

Spread thy broad wings for flight from the sky plotters ; 

Man has thy solace sought 

In lonely tower or grot 

Living in silent thought 

'Till his tower totters. 

Thine is of grasses wrought 

Bird of the waters. 



[261] 



LINES ON NIGHT 

I love the night, the solemn night, 
With all her twinkling glittering host; 
And, though the sun may be more bright, 
I love the mellow moonlight, most. 

For then it is I love to dream 
And gaze upon the spangled sky; 
And feel a happiness supreme, 
Nor care to question why? 

For then, through all the holy calm, 
Thoughts, like soft angel-whispers, fall ; 
And oft I seem to catch the psalm 
Sung by the choir invisible. 

Thus then they often seem so near 
That but a veil may lie between. 
And though their strains we seem to hear, 
Yet their bright forms remain unseen. 

Unseen, when shall we see those throngs, 
Clad in rich robes of dawning light, 
Whose voiceless, hidden, heartfelt songs 
Vibrate through all the chords of night? 

Ah! clearer than they echo here, 
Their pure, angelic breathings rise; 
And their rare notes, so sweet and clear, 
Float o'er the hills of Paradise. 

And shall I join that holy choir, 
And sing, sometime, that sweet refrain? 
Oh! shall I sweep the living lyre. 
Whose strains shall never pause again? 

[262] 



O happy angels ! Are there heights and depths 

The human soul has never thought to reach, 

Anthems and harps by angel pinions swept; 

Thoughts, breathed in Heaven, too intense for speech? 

Lift up your voices, happy angel band. 

Sing, 'till the Soul forgets her loss and blight, 

Scatter the darkness of this dreary land 

'Till a daw^n of glory breaks o'er sorrow's night. 



THE MULTITUDE 

They come and go, this world's uncounted throngs, 

Each on his individual aim intent; 

They come and go, 'till in the gathering shades 

For each, life's little fleeting day is spent; 

As one by one they come, a mingled host 

Born to earth's heritage of life and breath. 

So one by one they go, a countless throng; 

Let pride and honor trample underneath 

The lowly lot of poverty and toil. 

Death spareth not the wealthy or the poor; 

But claims them all, 

To the same dust they go ; impartial hands 

Strew with fresh sunbeams each lone resting place. 

Reflected sunsets and supernal morns 

Wrap all alike in floods of loveliness. 



[263 



LIFE'S GREAT QUESTION 
1886 

Like a rushing Alpine torrent 
Fed by springs of melting snow, 
Pouring downward from the distance 
To the pasture-lands below, 
Pours the tide of life's great questions. 
Seething, foaming, as they go. 
Ever changing, as they thunder 
Downward from the long ago. 
Science, with her vaunted wisdom. 
Utters forth her mighty voice; 
And the clang of war and discord. 
Boasts of theories their choice ; 

While persuasion, calm and gentle. 

Mingles with the tumult's roar; 

As, adown through time-worn channels. 

Life's great themes and problems pour; 

Till the traveler, faint and dizzy, 

Gazing on the shapeless mass. 

Looks in vain for truth's bright crystal 

In the waters as they pass. 

Looks in vain in creeds and doctrines 

For that one unsullied stone. 

Looks in vain in church and temple 

For the truth enshrined alone. 

Looks in vain amid the tumult 
For one attribute of God, 
That has stood unshaken — never 
By false doctrine downward trod. 
Looks in vain to find the solving 
Of the soul's immortal end ; 



[264 



Looks to find but wild confusion 
Where the thoughts of time contend. 
What of creeds? There is one only 
That shall never mouldering lie, 
Like the fadeless sun, that lonely- 
Monarch of the starless sky. 

Shining downward through the ages. 
Far above the torrent's moan, 
Studied by the patriarch Moses, 
From the tablets made of stone ; 
And rehearsed in song and story 
In the life of Christ, the Lord, 
With the rays of Heaven-born glory 
In each loving deed and word. 
What if temples, grand cathedrals. 
Lift to Heaven their domes and spires 
And the swell of thrilling anthems 
Rolls from grand imposing choirs ? 

Yet outside their sacred precincts. 
Where no listening crowds attend. 
Richer, grander, holier praises 
To Jehovah's throne ascend. 
Not alone to human temples 
Do His worshipers repair, 
'Tis His children's sanctuary 
Wheresoe'er they bow in prayer; 
In the field, the plain, the forest. 
In the city's crowding throng, 
Hearts have offered prayers unuttered 
Souls have breathed immortal song. 



[265] 



Look above thee; golden turrets, 
Perish in the distant blue ; 
Look below thee ; flowery carpets 
Spread the floor of nature through ; 
And those roofs of palest azure, 
And those floors, before, behind, 
Spreading out in matchless grandeur, 
Hold and cover all mankind. 
This thy temple-home, erected 
By an Architect divine; 
'Tis thy Father's sanctuary 
And thy Father's house is thine. 

What is God? A cruel tyrant 
Ruling with a rod of iron. 
Armed with stern, unyielding justice, 
Or in kindlier mood benign, 
Staying whom he will, or blessing 
By an unexplained decree; 
Punishing one man's transgressing 
While another wanders free? 
God, who made the skies above us, 
God, who made the earth so fair, 
God, whose loving kindness shineth 
Li the earth, the sea, the air. 

What O mighty current rolling 

To eternity's great sea 

Are thy wild conflicting murmurs 

Of the all-wise Deity? 

Let false science, in her blindness, 

Lead her fools to black despair ; 



[266 



Lo, thy Father's loving kindness 
Falleth 'round thee, everywhere. 
Read in earth's frail starry blossoms 
Or those higher stars above, 
God is strength and power and wisdom, 
God is justice, mercy, love. 

Soul of mine, what is thy portion? 
Oh ye roaring floods be still. 
God, the loving, all-wise Father, 
Shall His promises fulfill. 
Thine to live while temples crumble. 
Thine to live while creeds decay. 
Thine to live while worlds dissolving 
Melt in flames or dust away. 
Thine to sing o'er death victorious. 
While death's vanquished armies rage; 
Thine to claim in joy and gladness 
An immortal heritage. 



MY ROSES 

They bloomed in such rich perfectness, 

My artist's brush or poet's pen 

Had hoped to only half confess 

Their novelty, waxen richness, when 

I dreamed a dream of sweet completeness. 

Of one who lived the roses' sweetness. 



267] 



THE BEAUTIFUL PAST 

From the past, the beautiful misty past, 

Float faint, sweet melodies. 
Strains that were all too dear to last 
But whose hidden beauty we but half guessed 
As they flitted away from us swift and fast, 

Linked with loved memories. 

But now as we gaze on those far off shores 

They seem clad in robes sublime, 
And we see where we dropped our restless oars 
Where the ripple plays and the cataract roars. 
And the tide of golden moments pours 

Down the silent river of time. 

Those scenes are past and those days have fled 

With their weight of joy or woe, 
But sometimes they come like a noiseless tread, 
Like the footsteps of nations, long since dead; 
And a gleam of mystical light is shed 

O'er the scenes of the long ago. 

And faces rise from the light and gloom, 

Faces we used to see 
Ere we changed, alas ! it was all too soon, 
The morning dew for the heat of noon. 
And have mingled with Life's ever-changing tune 

And sailed on her troubled sea. 

But we look ahead to the far oiT skies, 

For the years are flying fast, 
And we know that the present that round us lies 
Ere the light of a few more moments dies. 
Will with many loved and severed ties 

Fade into the mist-veiled past. 

[268] 



The Summer is waning to Autumn time 

And Winter will soon be here, 
Let us lay out our work in Love's design, 
That golden deeds may our pathway line, 
And leave in the past a jeweled mine ; 

Ere we welcome another year. 

And then when we reach our journey's close, 

The last look, backward cast, 
Will rest on a scene of sweet repose 
Where a peaceful river of good deeds flows ; 
And no cloud of darkness can interpose 

To mar our beautiful past. 



HEARTACHE 

Oh that I might forget. 

That my heart so strangely sore 
Might cover with flowers its grave of regret, 

And remember it nevermore. 
But the sunbeam brightens the snow-covered mound 

And thaws not its icy heart, 
While we know the dead lie underground, 

Its mockery makes us start. 

I can smile for my heart is proud, 

I can laugh though my blood runs cold 
As the icy depths of the snowy shroud 

Where glimmers the sunbeam's gold; 
I can pray, thank God, I can pray 

From the depths of my dark distress ; 
I can trust, 'till God's sunshine melts away. 

The frozen anguish and bitterness. 



269 



SWAN RIVER DAISIES 

To thy banks, Australian River, 
Thy frail flowers our fancies bring; 
Gifts will whisper of the giver. 
As the streamlet of the spring. 

Far across the briny ocean 
How our fancies flit along, 
'Till they join thy river motion, 
Mingle with thy river song. 

Rest amid the grasses growing 
In the shadows, green and rank; 
Revel midst the daisies blowing 
In the sunshine on thy bank. 

While the swans, their proud necks arching, 
And the shadows in their eyes. 
Dream not of the desert's parching 
Underneath those same blue skies. 

Daisies on the artist's canvas. 
Daisies in the poet's lay. 
Daisies, they have left their impression 
All along the dusty way. 

They are trodden in the highway 
By the busy, thoughtless throng. 
They are gathered in the byway; 
Woven into scene and song. 

Dainty daisies of Australia 
Springing from a royal line. 
Each in blue or white regalia, 
Spun from fibers, silken fine. 

[270] 



Ye have caught the sapphire color, 
In each little silken whorl, 
Of your native skies, nor duller 
Flecked with clouds of purest pearl. 

Ox-eye daisies on the prairie, 
Garden daisies, old in song; 
Daisies coarse and daisies airy 
To this royal line belong. 

Theirs is not a lordly title 
But a changeless, fadeless name; 
Virtue's just, deserved requital ; 
Man might covet such a fame. 

Hands have torn the Alpine gentian 
From its glacier home away. 
Gathered gems, 'twere vain to mention. 
From the Tropics rich array. 

Fuchsias from Brazilian ranges, 
Callas from the storied Nile, 
Each its native climate changes, 
River, range, or ocean isle. 

But to every land they carry 
Facts, where fancy's eyes can see 
Some lone haunt of fern or fairy 
Where they flourished, wild and free; 

So they make a pretty day dream 
That their bursting buds embloom, 
Ever wrought of shade and sunbeam. 
Never touched by glare or gloom. 



[271] 



Thus thy flowers. Australian River, 
To our distant land have come : 
Breathing subtly forever, 
Fancies of their native home. 



THE GR^WE 



Ships, grand as ever fought the ocean waves 
And, conquering, wrought the welfare of mankind. 
Have made the depths, eternity, their graves 
And left, at best, but memories behind. 

The tidings, they have winged, from sea and land, 
Like carrier doves, to even*- nation's door ; 
The flames of progress, that their pinions fanned, 
To leap the dread abyss from shore to shore. 

And dost thou scorn, oh, proudest barque, to lie 
Where these have lain while cycles came and fled? 
And dost thou dread, oh proudest heart, to die? 
The great, the good, the beautiful are dead. 

The depths, they bridged for countless hosts to cross, 
With wealth for heart and body ; soul and mind 
Lament, in dirges deep, their awful loss ; 
L'ngrateful and forgetful is mankind. 

When breaks the storm that may not be subdued, 
Till sinks thy barque, where millions more lie wrecked 
Why shouldst thou fear the depth's dark solitude 
Whose Builder was creation's Architect? 

Quaking above the fathomless abyss, 
}^Iidnight around, above, the tempest's frown ; 
One star illumines still, thy dark distress. 
Since here the Son of God himself went down. 

[272] 



HARMONY 

Too late they met — for youth had passed away, 

Met where earth thrilled with love-notes rich and strong 

And Nature, like a little child at play 

Whose innocence rebuked a thought of wrong. 

Sang snatches of sweet song and laughed between ; 

The softest harmony of song and scene. 

Yet not too late they met to learn that each 
Loved the fair landscape with a poet's love 
And not too late to understand the speech 
Interpreted by both from stream and grove. 
And not too late to learn what souls may miss, 
In life's entanglement of Heavenly bliss. 

Perish the thought that hath one shade of sin. 
Let angels consecrate their mutual tastes; 
Locked is the gate, they may not enter in 
To traverse side by side life's desert wastes; 
Strong is that gate as God's immortal word. 
And over it hangs Mercy's flaming sword. 

So consecrate to friendship all the streams 
That fiow harmoniously through realms of mind ; 
Friendship as pure and true as angel dreams, 
To waken when all night is left behind 
Waken to know, — to those who pray and wait 
Nothing that's sinless ever comes too late. 



[ 27 Z ] 



MAN BY WISDOM CANNOT FIND OUT GOD 

Ye who ascend to the celestial heavens 
To study planets, stars and asteroids 
And view the wonders of the stellar worlds, 
Countless in number, hurrying through space, 
Planned in such perfect mechanism, that not one 
Swerves from the course, in which some all-wise power 
Has destined it to move, setting a bound 
Over which all the powers and arguments of man 
Cannot compel it to revolve. 

And ye who delve 
After the hidden treasures of the earth 
To resurrect from stores of ages dead 
And bring to light the history of the past, 
The strange formation of the solid rock, 
Vegetation submerged long centuries ago, 
Metals and gems, sands and the compact clay, 
All furnishing new scope for thought, 
New truths for science to delineate 
And new surmises, questionings and doubts; 
Astronomers, geologists and all who explore 
The vast cathedral of this universe, 
Whose vaulted roof, far as the eye can reach. 
Clear azure, spangled o'er with gold by night 
And oft diversified with clouds by day. 
Spreads out a beauteous covering for earth 
Whose corridors and galleries and aisles 
With emerald carpetings, broidered with flowers 
And leafy draperies with silvery ribbons 
Winding in and out; 



274 



And the great basins, 
Fountains, cisterns and vast reservoirs 
Supplying man with bounteous blessings 

And delights; 

The wind and waves 
Sweet instruments of music 
With all their delicate, vibrating chords 
Sounding from shore to shore, accompanied by 
Thousands of voices from the sea and land, 
And all in matchless harmony composing 
The choir of Nature's temple and her God. 

You who can analyze the various parts 
Of this great structure, with its countless domes 
Towering beyond where human thought has reached. 
May boast to comprehend the wondrous wisdom 
The great Architect displays in this, His handiwork. 

To me 
The smallest seed contains enough 
To make man's great devices seem but small, 
Though to the casual observer it might seem 
Of small importance, a mere lifeless thing. 
Possessing neither beauty, grace or worth ; 
But place it where it can draw sustenance 
From the rich soil, the dews, refreshing showers 
And the warm sunbeams ; 

All is still; 
No faint suggestion of a change disturbs the spot — 
But go thy way; when a few days or weeks have passed- 

behold. 
From that same spot, two tiny leaflets peep and seem to say, 
"Have we not earned a place in which to grow?" 



[275 



Weeks pass away, the tiny embryo 
Little by little increases and expands 
To a symmetrical and beauteous plant, 
Budding and blossoming and throwing out 
Such perfume as no chemist could compound ; 
A marvelous work and silently performed, 
Thus teaching us that oft most grand results 
May be obtained by quiet action, 
Silent and sublime. 

AVho can form such a gem? Can mortal hands? 

Let science delve and analyze, create and shape 

The exact image of the little seed ; 

Plant it and wait and wait 'till centuries have passed, — 

She waits in vain, sunbeams and showers combined 

Can never coax to life a lifeless thing; 

And thus we learn that some creating power 

Xot in the reach of man, has touched to life and action 

What without, were dead. 

^Man cannot comprehend this wondrous power. 

He can but catch a faint idea of its magnitude 

Beyond the reach of science and of thought. 

Beyond the limit of the mortal mind 

It reaches out, omnipotent, eternal and all-wise 

Search for that power, whose stamp is on the earth 

Setting in motion every living thing; 

Waking to life the flowers, the birds, the trees. 

And giving being unto man and beast ; 

Then 3-ou may realize the awful truth. 

That man bv wisdom cannot find out God. 



[276] 



LIFE'S U^XERTAIXTY 

These zigzag paths we travel 

May change, we know not when, 
Diverging far and farther, 

To never meet again. 
We trust no freak of fortune. 

Fear no decree of fate ; 
We know God's chosen pathways 

Lead all to Heaven's gate. 

The years may crowd around us, 

W^ith faces strange and rude, 
'Till time has come between us, 

As some great multitude ; 
Yet we who wait with patience, 

In each appointed place, 
When the years have gone, shall stand 

Immortal, face to face. 

These troubled tossing breakers, 

Ah! who can tell their power? 
They sink the iron-clad vessel. 

They float the frailest flower. 
We know not who shall longest 

Their ceaseless strife endure. 
The weakest or the strongest 

No safe return insure. 

So changing and uncertain 

Are all life's winding ways. 
That, lost in contemplation, 

My soul bows down and prays : 
"O God, amid the mazes 

Of life's uncertainty. 
Teach us to love each other, 

And leave the rest to Thee !" 

[ 277 ] 



THE SOWER'S SONG 

Shall I sow the seeds of the briers and weeds 
O'er the fertile fields and the grassy meads? 
Oh, the thorn and the tare are everywhere ! 
The world hath enough of weeds. 

Shall I scatter the germs of their noxious forms 
Where the beautiful blossoms bloom? 
Shall I tend them with care, 'till they flourish there, 
Must the sweet flowers make them room? 

Oh, the weeds grow rank on the river bank, 
And the hills are o'ergrown with weeds 
By breeze and blast, they are sown broadcast ! 
Why should I sow their seeds? 

No toilsome care must their soil prepare. 
They will spring up and flourish, anywhere ; 
By the stagnant fen, in the lonely glen, 
By dusty roads and abodes of men. 

But the blossoms sweet and the golden wheat, 
Blighted by cold and withered by heat. 
Busiest hands their seed must sow; 
Patience and labor must bid them grow. 

Shall I cage the bird, that your dread has stirred. 
By his dismal cry through the darkness heard 
Or the vulture, roaming his prey to seek, 
With gory talons and bloody beak? 

Or the croaking thing, with the ebony wing, 
To the sunniest spot in your home bring? 
Or prison the cheer, for your tuneful ear, 
Of the little bird with the song to sing? 

[278] 



Is crime's dark brood the chosen food 
For the intellects of the great and good ? 
Will the wise deride and cast aside 
Life's better things in a search for blood? 

Shall I scatter thoughts full of dismal doubts, 
And hopeless pinings and dark distrust, 
To fall apart, in a human heart, 
And spring like weeds from its damp and dust? 

Or shall I cull from the beautiful. 
The budding hope and the tuneful truth ; 
Bright flowers to spring, sweet birds to sing, 
In the failing heart, immortal youth ? 

Oh, the thorn and the tare are everywhere ! 
The world hath enough of doubt and woe ; 
By breeze and blast, they are sown broadcast 
Midst the golden germs that the sowers sow. 



HOLLYHOCKS 

O the hollyhocks on their leafy stalks, 
O the busy, buzzing of bumble bees, 
O the rollicking ripple that blithely talks 
To the merry robin that gaily rocks 
Her babies up in the alder trees ! 



[279 



MY POEM 

If I could write it all just as I feel it — 
My inner life, my real though hidden self — 
I think no idle hand could chance unseal it 
And lay it by unread upon the shelf. 

'T would be the sweetest, saddest, grandest poem 
That ever dropped in crystals, gem by gem 
'Twould sound to every life a living poem 
Written in heart-throbs from a poet's pen. 

'Twould be the highest love in power and pathos, 
The tenderest sympathies, the sweetest thrills 
The truest, highest sentiments and all those 
High outlooks from the soul's eternal hills, 

'Twould hold the world in its mad rush to grovel 
In competition, avarice and strife 
Of party factions, from their low mind hovel 
They'd see the heaven-high palaces of life. 

Where through still nights God speaks and wings of angels 
Temper the glory from our dazzled eyes. 
Where human sorrows change to sweet evangels 
That make more gentle all that in man lies. 

Oh, it would be the battle hymn of nations ; 
This poem, where'er sorrow has its place ; 
'Twould thrill with courage in its strong vibrations 
Of a life's anguish borne with patient grace ! 



280 



THE SCEPTER THE POPPY YIELDS 

The poppy flaunting her sheeny silks 
Through the summer day in the sun, 

Tells me of aught 

Of good she hath wrought, 
What evil hath she done? 

She is only a flower that the children love 
For the charm of her gorgeous dye ; 

Yet stronger powers 

Than these wills of ours 
Latent within her lie. 

In the darkened room on the rack of pain 

The wakeful sufiferer weeps ; 

A portion the poppy yields to lull 
The tortured brain of the sorrowful 

And the sufferer sweetly sleeps. 

The opium fiend now haggard and weak, 
Once hopeful and strong and brave ; 
The poppy has woven a spell to entice 
From earnest endeavor to sloth and vice 
While she lures to his death her slave. 

And this is the scepter the poppy wields 
For evil or for good ; 

Is 3^our influence less 

To curse or bless 
Oh, beautiful womanhood? 

You may weave a spell of kindness and love 
O'er a world of strife and woe ; 

You may lure the race 

To a higher place — 
Or a lower, where you grow. 
r28il 



OCTOBER MUSINGS 

I sit beside my window, 

This dull October day, 

And watch the crowd that is passing 

Below in the busy street ; 

I wonder where they are going 

And why they pass this way? 

The young and the old, the high and the low. 

The rich and the poor all meet ; 

Some arrayed in silks and satins. 

Graceful forms and faces fair ; 

And some are dirty and ragged. 

And others look worn with care. 

Some are God's children with souls made white, 

And hearts that are free from sin, 

And our Heavenly Father knoweth His own. 

For He see'th the heart within; 

And some are hard and cruel. 

Some wicked and steeped in shame ; 

But was it not for sinners 

To earth the Saviour came? 

He came to lift them out of the mire, 

To lead them nearer God ; 

It was for the groveling worms of earth 

That His thorny path He trod. 

They are going. Where are they going? 

They are passing the livelong day; 

Many are in destruction's road 

But few in the narrow way. 

They are going all from the scenes of earth 

To rest in a silent bed ; 

For no crowds are seen and no sounds are heard 

In the city of the dead. 

Come, go with me to the lone graveyard 

Where so many are silently sleeping; 



282 



No sound of childish laughter is heard 

And here, no sighing or weeping. 

No sound is heard but the requiem low 

Of the wind in the tree-tops wailing, 

And far away on the stormy bay 

The white-sailed ships are sailing. 

How changed the scene, how lone the place. 

From the street, with its bustle and noise ; 

But they all will soon be called to go 

And leave their gilded toys. 

O God ! I see naught but change and decay, 

One hour in the sunlight's glory; 

The shadow comes, and they pass away 

Leaving nothing to tell their story; 

And the withered leaves of the Autumn time 

That rustle in every blast 

Seem chanting a sad funeral dirge 

For the hours that could not last; 

But God knoweth best; His children all 

Must pass Death's chilly portal. 

But bright through the gloom of the silent tomb 

Shines the glory of the immortal; 

And the vanished hours are like heavenly flowers 

To an earthly garden given. 

To bud for the Lord of Paradise, 

But gathered to bloom in Heaven. 



[283 



THE SEASIDE CEMETERY 

This is no silent city of the dead, 

No soundless crypt; 
No charnel-house (whence light and song have fled) 

For gloom equipped. 
No hidden, darksome, life-deserted spot 

Of bloom bereft. 

Where silent desolation, changing not. 

Alone is left. 
A city, looking from its sloping hill 

Toward the sea; 
A picture, blooming fresh and lovely 

In memory. 
Here droop bright fuchsias in a glowing hedge 

Of brightness set, 
And blue lobelias fringe the border's edge 

With dewdrops wet; 
While pelargoniums, with deep color stained 

Make glad the ground ; 
And the green ivy clambers, unrestrained 

O'er slab and mound, 
And queenly roses and rich purple blooms 

In freshness glow, 
Dropping their fading petals on the tombs 

That sleep below. 
The white fogs hover o'er with silent wings. 

Like guardian hosts 
When early morn her misty mantle flings 

Along the coasts ;. 



[284 



And the glad sunbeams fall, like melted gold 

In shining pools ; 
While the hot noontide's burning, brazen scroll 

The Seabreeze cools; 
And over all a deep and mighty surge 

Forever swells, 
The wondrous ocean's ceaseless, solemn dirge 

Time never quells; 
As if the sea's great palpitating heart 

Remembered yet. 
The silent dwellers, as the years depart 

And friends forget. 
Were it not beautiful to slumber here 

Not all unsung; 
But chanted of by one forever near 

In Nature's tongue ? 
Sleep, peaceful dwellers, by the lovely shore ; 

Though life hath fled, 
The throbbing, solemn ocean nevermore 

Forgets the dead. 



A WRECKED LIFE 

"They blame us most when we are least to blame. 

And they with souls made black with hate and shame, 

Had angels one mistake to mourn with them. 

Would stand the readiest judges to condemn. 

"O Earth, have pity when thy blasts have wrecked, 

The purest lily that thy gardens decked !" 

(It was a woman's cry; she stood alone. 

Whom fortune, beauty, love and friends had known.) 



[285 



CITIES IN THE SAND. 

While the sun is gilding 
Sea and sky and land, 

Little hands are building 
Cities in the sand. 

Spire and dome and column, 
Rising high and grand, 

Churches still and solemn 
Built of granite sand. 

Shining streets and portals 
Wrought by brain and hand, 

The conceits of mortals 
Builded in the sand. 

Boldly o'er the gravel 

Come a noisy band, 
Ah ! They soon will level 

Cities in the sand. 

Tossing, roaring, tumbling. 
Laughing, sporting and 

Washing down and crumbling 
Cities in the sand. 

Where are all the toilers? 

Where are they who planned 
For the sportive spoilers 

Cities in the sand? 



[286 



Gone from beach and boulder, 
Gone from bank and strand; 

Waves than sunbeams colder 
Revel on the sand. 

While the mad tide rages, 

I can understand 
How the waves are — ages, 

And the cities — sand. 

In the past are lying 
Ruins, wisely planned ; 

While the years are crying: 
"Cities in the sand." 

While the sun is gilding 
Sea, and sky, and land. 

Larger hands are building 
Cities in the sand. 



PURITY 

Behold it in the lilies white 

That star the stagnant mere; 
Behold it in the snowflakes light 

That shroud the dying year, 
And in the spotless pearl that sets 

The blackness of the cave. 
And in the whitened surf that frets 

Above the midnight wave. 
And in the cloud that piles its snow 

Above the canyon's gloom, 
And gleams against the night below 

In towers of milk-white foam. 

[287] 



THE DEMON OF DESPAIR AND THE 
ANGEL OF HOPE. 

Evil Enchantress spread thy raven v^^ings, 

Thy demon wings ; 
Touch not my spirit with thy venomed stings, 

Thy viper stings ; 
Far in the night the bird of sorrow sings, 

So sadly sings. 

I turn to gaze on Hope as on a star, 

A distant star; 
And feel thy touch my inner vision mar, 

So sadly mar; 
That o'er her beauty burns an awful scar, 

A deep, dark, scar. 

Evil Enchantress, thy despised caress, 

Thy fell caress; 
My soul hath shunned for only Hope could bless, 

With gladness bless ; 
Shall I, thy dread, unearthly power confess. 

At last confess? 

No ; by the heavens above me, no, 

I answer "No." 
Go from my spirit, dark destroyer, go, 

With trembling go; 
Let not my soul thy baleful presence know, 

Thy blighting know. 

Arise, bright angel, Hope, once more arise. 

In joy arise ; 
Cast off the heavy cloud of thy disguise, 

Thy dark disguise ; 
Illumine the far future's farthest skies. 

The glorious skies. 

[288] 



Pierce with thy beams my darkly troubled breast, 

My aching breast ; 
Hasten to flight its dark-winged demon-guest, 

Its transient guest ; 
And calm with hallowed breath its wild unrest. 

Its deep unrest. 

Pass o'er the portals of my soul to-night, 

So dark to-night; 
Put the red demon of Despair to flight, 

To endless flight; 
Abide therein, exalted, pure and bright, 

Undimmed and bright. 



THE ROSES 

I would sing of the roses 

Their fragrance, their color, their form; 

The beautiful fragrant storm 

Of petals, dainty rose petals 

That down on the soft grass settles 

To keep the daisies warm. 

Each exquisite bud that uncloses, 

To me is an inspiration 

A wonderful new creation 
That some mind has thought about; 
And skeptic, where is your doubt? 
Who planned the pattern and cut it out 
Of the wonderful, beautiful roses? 

O my beautiful roses! 
There was one who loved you, too, 
But with the golden Summer 
She silently passed away; 



[289] 



I would give all ambition has thought or planned 
To lay one bud in her outstretched hand 
And see her smile to-day. 

Where shall I take my roses? 

Shall I walk down the busy street 

And give each child I meet 

Whose longing eyes shall ask it 

One flower from my brimming basket, 

One rosebud fresh and sweet? 

Or shall I take my roses 

To cheer an invalid's room 

With color and perfume? 

From altar and chancel swinging 

Where the lofty choir is singing 

Shall they burn their censer bloom? 



SONG 

My merry maid in the maple shade, 

With the fresh, green leaves above you, 

With your child-like face and your artless grace, 

Oh, who could help but love you ! 

And I would not break for your own sweet sake. 
Your dreams, all their fairies routing, 
And idly change, with a truth so strange. 
Your young heart's faith to doubting. 



[290 



TO THE EPWORTH LEAGUE. 

Come, for God is calling over land and sea ; 
"There's a field left idle; who will work for Me?" 
Someone heard the summons, someone made reply : 
"I will lead Thy toilers. Master here am I." 

God looks down from Heaven, human toil to scan, 
Sees what work is needed in His righteous plan; 
Knows what fields lie idle, feels our every need. 
Sends His willing workers with the golden seed. 

Thus He saw the youthful of His precious fold, 
Scattering and turning from the gates of gold; 
Many bright allurements leading them to sin, 
In God's house no purpose that could call them in. 

But His love and wisdom all our toil have planned. 
Now a band of workers in His house they stand ; 
No more scattered idly 'midst the snares of sin, 
But a little army strong to fight and win. 

Strong to look up bravely with a trusting love. 
Trampling wrong beneath them as they onward move 
Lifting up their banners with a joyful song, 
Lifting up their brothers from the wrecks of wrong. 

Sing your joyful anthems, happy Christian League, 
Fear not Satan's arrows or his dark intrigue; 
Though your loving service earth may not applaud 
There is joy eternal in the smile of God. 



[291 ] 



TO THE LADY AT THE WINDOW. 

Kneeling at her window, 
Solemn eyes uplifted 
To blue skies, where sunbeams 
Through soft clouds are sifted. 

Two hands clasped together. 
Mute lips sweet and pleading; 
Looking in the future, 
Life's great problem reading. 

Looking in the future. 
With a silent yearning; 
Little in the distance 
Are thine eyes discerning. 

No faint answer cometh. 
From the deep blue zenith, 
To thy heart's deep question 
What thy future meaneth. 

Lady, like an angel's 
Is thine upturned face ; 
Thou hast surely wandered 
From thy natal place. 

Lost thy way and straying 
From the pearly portals; 
The way back forgetting, 
Cast thy lot with mortals. 

Well mayst thou be kneeling. 
With thine eyes uplifted; 
To a troubled ocean 
Hath thy life-barque drifted. 

[292] 



Midst life's earliest promise, 
Twineth sorrow's omen; 
Thou hast taken up the new, 
Untried lot of woman. 

Looking in the future, 
Lady, may the years 
Bring thee hopes to triumph 
Over all thy fears. 

But should they deny thee 
Thy life's happiness, 
Prove thine angel mission. 
Other lives to bless. 

Trust no smiling fortune. 
Fear no frowning fate; 
While the present calleth, 
Let the future wait. 

Now a still voice whispers: 
"Cast on Me thy care" ; 
Kneeling at thy window 
Lift thine eyes in prayer. 



[293] 



A PRISONER. 

I am your prisoner, old mother earth, 
A prisoner glad to stay ; 
For the only gate from your prison forth 
Is shrouded in mystery. 

Could I climb the steeps of the golden stars, 
I would break your chains to-night ; 
Or, could I ascend the sunset bars, 
Thy prisoner would take her flight. 

But no ladder leans to the sunset skies, 
And no stairs to the "milky way" ; 
I have no wings like the bird to rise. 
So a prisoner still I stay. 

A prisoner chained to this little ball, 
With no power to rise beyond ; 
A prisoner shut in from the flaming wall. 
That the universe spreads around. 

I know there are regions unexplored. 
In boundless immensity, 
Beyond where human thought has soared 
Or human eye can see. 

But there's only one gate, old mother earth. 
That each must pass alone ; 
One dark, dark road that leadeth forth 
To the great, the wide unknown. 



[294] 



Does a ladder up from its gloom ascend, 
More bright than the sunset bars? 
This end is clouded, the other end 
Is planted beyond the stars. 

I shall stand sometime by that lonely gate. 
And its solemn silence know ; 
I shall grope in the valley dark, and wait 
'Till the message comes to go. 

I shall pass its portals and journey forth, 
To fathom its myster}-; 
I shall break your fetters, old mother earth. 
And your prisoner shall be free. 



SUBTLE IXFLUE.\XE 

The flower that lifts its head at morn 

Of all its newborn grace unshorn 

Breathes out unconscious, though it proves 

An odor to despise or love ; 

Nor is its breath unruled by laws, 

A useless myth without a cause ; 

The sap concealed by Nature's arts 

Supplies the odor it imparts, 

The juices wath its nature blent 

Make up its sweet or noxious scent : 

Thus subtle influence wafts abroad 

A power for evil or for good. 

Unrealized its subtle might. 

Unrealized its endless flight ; 

But none life's humblest field may share, 

And leave unchanged its atmosphere, 

While hidden forces shall control 

The subtle incense of the soul. 



[295] 



OUR NATION'S SLAVERY. 

Is this the country boasting freedom's reign, 

The highest good a nation can obtain ; 

Where no slave murmurs at his thankless lot, 

Where all the rights of liberty are taught ; 

Where white and black alike rejoice to pay 

Their tribute to the matters of the day ; 

Where tongue and pen declare their action free, 

And call their land a land of liberty? 

O Goddess ! from thy exalted throne look down 

Upon the land once cursed by slavery's frown, 

But now in this thrice blest enlightened day, 

Declaring that no tyrant hand shall sway 

The laws that flourish for a nation's good, 

So dearly purchased by a nation's blood. 

Look down upon the crowds that throng the street, 

On restless hands, and busy, hurrying feet; 

Look in upon the homes of every grade. 

Homes 'neath the wide-furled flag of freedom made ; 

In the great cities, crowded side by side, 

And o'er the country scattered far and wide. 

Here, clustered in a growing, thriving town. 

There, nestled in the mountains, bare and brown; 

Or where the rivers wash their verdant banks. 

And dancing eddies play their noisy pranks. 

In vine-wreathed valleys where Spring first awakes, 

On ocean-clififs, or shores of inland lakes ; 

Whether by mountains crowned or city domes, 

These countless dwellings are the nation's homes ; 

'Tis here the child begins to realize. 

The stage of life where all his future lies ; 

And here those first impressions leave their trace. 

That coming years can never quite erase. 

And in these homes are formed the minds that mold 



[296] 



The future with its story yet untold. 

Oh, how important that these homes should be 

Blest with the love of truth and liberty. 

Look down, fair Goddess, on the work of years, 

Look on a Nation's triumphs and her tears. 

Smile on the work that has been nobly done ; 

Rejoice that palms of victory have been won, 

But mourn when every State thine eyes have scanned. 

Mourn for the many slaves in our proud land. 

Mourn for the slaves who face a hopeless fate. 

Mourn for the many homes made desolate. 

Slaves to the wine-cup, slaves to crime and vice, 

Selling their souls and for a paltry price ; 

Slaves to a life of misery and shame. 

Bound by the fetters of a tarnished name ; 

Slaves to the narrowing love of gain and gold, 

Slaves to their evil passions uncontrolled; 

These all are slaves, and many, many more. 

Countless as sands upon the ocean shore. 

Read in the faces that we daily meet. 

On country road or busy, bustling street, 

On faces joyous and on faces grave. 

Read where some tyrant hand has written, — slave. 

What mean these countless dens of vice and guilt? 

What mean these prisons that our land has built ? 

What mean these rum-shops with their poisonous breath 

Hurrying scores of drunkards down to death? 

They say in language undisguised and plain : 

"The heartless tyrants have not all been slain." 

No, though the African has gained his rights, 

And freedom's star beams o'er oppression's heights, 

Thousands still choose to wear the slave's iron band, 

Fastening the fetters with their own free hand. 

Despising all the rights our laws afford, 

Take off their armor and lay down their sword; 



[297] 



To watch no more for evil's grave alarms, 

To fight no more for freedom's priceless charms ; 

To live in wait of horrors to ensue, 

To do whate'er their master bids them do. 

Their choice, where wide-furled flags of freedom wave, 

To fill a helpless slave's ignoble grave. 

Why are they slaves? Can mountain chains reply? 

They only echo back the question "Why?" 

Can ocean waves the burdened problems solve 

That many hearts, and hopes, and homes involve ? 

Answer, ye glittering stars with wisdom fraught, 

The stars are dumb, the breakers answer not; 

There is no reason and no answer given. 

Though mighty hills with thunderings were riven. 

The question stands unanswered by a voice : 

Why will a man make slavery his choice. 

When Liberty her triumph song awakes 

And sheds her light on every path he takes ? 



PEACE ON EARTH 

Tired was my soul, more weary than my frame. 

Of life's hard battle between right and wrong; 

Weary and sick I cried : "Not wealth or fame, 

Give me not happiness or titled name. 

But the sweet angel's song; 

As the tired shepherds at the Saviour's birth. 

May not God's angels sing me, Peace on Earth?' 

Then a white angel opened wide the door. 

Softly my weary spirit entered in 

And God's pure angels, hovering gently o'er. 

Shut out earth's strife and sin, 

And folded their broad wings of light around 

The Heavenly peace my soul on earth had found. 



[298] 



"AT EVENTIDE IT SHALL BE LIGHT." 

Clouded and dark was life's little day, 

To the weary one passing through waters deep ; 

But at last the tempest all cleared away, 

For the night of death cometh when all shall sleep. 

And the eventide followeth after the day, 

And the eventide cometh before the night ; 

And to him who waiteth patiently, 

"At eventide it shall be light." 

The night of death closed life's little day. 

And nothing was left but a grass-grown heap; 

And gone was that sunset of ecstasy, 

Ere the night of death coming had bid him sleep. 

But up to the Sun of Righteousness, 

The glorified spirit winged its flight; 

The source of that Heaven-born happiness, 

"At eventide it shall be light." 

O weary journey, O dark, dark day ! 
O thorns and chaff that so many reap ; 
'Till the tired spirit waiteth longingly. 
For the night of death coming to bid it sleep ! 
No more shall tempest with withering breath. 
Nor hopeless vigil, nor sleepless night; 
But the loving presence that whispereth : 
"At eventide it shall be light." 

Ye storms and clouds of life's little day. 

Across my sky in your blackness sweep. 

If only a light shine on my way, 

When the night of death coming shall bid me sleep. 

If only Hope's bright, immortal ray 

Fall peacefully on my raptured sight ; 

From the Lamb that lighteth the perfect day, 

"At eventide it shall be light." 

[299] 



THE FIELDS 

Tossing billows of wheat and oats 

Rolling in music that swells and floats, 

Rippling in many-hued waves of flowers — 

I love them, I love them, these fields of ours ! 

They're a-wing with birds, they're a-buzz with bees. 

They are shaded in nooks by old forest trees. 

They are torn by the zigzag creek that sings 

As she speeds away on her dripping wings 

From her plunge in the depths of her mountain springs. 

When the flowers of Spring like the fogs are fed 

To the earth, the air and the clouds o'erhead. 

When quickly before the advancing foe 

Like a fallen army the grain lies low. 

That Famine may never dare scale the fence 

Each Autumn comes Ceres to pitch her tents. 

Takes captive the whispering spies of drought 

And sends old Famine retreating south ; 

For though still a scepter the old foe wields 

He never has conquered these valley fields ; 

She piles up the wide lying sheaves of grain 

'Till they look like Philistines' tents on the plain. 

While like winged vessels that sail the main 

The larks skim over the waves of grain. 

While the laughing raindrop and sunbeam showers 

Are pouring their floods on the field of flowers. 

Whatever the wealth that the glad earth yields 

I love them, I love them, the fields, the fields! 

The iron-horse speeding his noisy way 

Scents the fragrant air with his piercing neigh, 

And the rumble and roar of the passing train 

Is heard each day from the fields of grain. 

Go take the lark from his lowly nest 

With his wings half-fledged and the down on his breast, 

[300] 



Make his prison a palace with sumptuous fare, 
Be the bars of gold, that confine him there ; 
'Midst the noise and dust of the city street 
He may carol his notes so high and sweet, 
But his golden breast-plate a secret shields, 
He has not forgotten the waving fields. 



THE MIND'S TREASURE-HOUSE. 

The stars of Heaven's ethereal blue, 
The birds and flowers of Spring, 

Present to every passer-by 
Their sweetest ofifering. 

Can hearts be hopeless, homes be drear. 
When joys like these are given 

To deck and beautify the earth 
And lift our thoughts to Heaven? 

The song that filled the singer's soul 

Another could not hear, 
Naught but the echo of that song 

Fell on the listening ear. 

The artist's grandest masterpiece 
The searchers can not find ; 

Hidden and still unseen it lies 
An ideal of the mind. 

So with the poet, truest words, 

By inspiration wrought, 
Are but — though robed in loveliness — 

A shadow of the thought. 



[301] 



THE WOMAN TO HER FALSE LOVER 

To-day I mourn above thy new-made grave 
As one bereft of hope, 

Choke back my sobs and struggle to be brave, 
And blind through darkness grope. 

I know you live in health and vigor yet 
Called by the very name, 
Wearing the form and face I'll ne'er forget 
Of my dead friend, but you are not the same. 

No, not the same ; the friend I loved was free 
From treachery, and true; 
Too noble for deceit and falsity. 
And what of you? 

My friend had faults, but they were human faults 

From which none here are free; 

Yours are base crimes at which my soul revolts 

Instinctively. 

Oh, to awake from out this dream of madness, 
And know that it has only been a dream ; 
A dark, dark night that fled before the gladness 
Of morn's untroubled beam ! 

To look once more into your eyes and listen, 
Once more to hear your voice as from the dust ; 
To see one morning sunbeam dance and glisten 
Undarkened by distrust. 

For oh ! your falsity has rendered duller 
All Nature's beauties with its stunning pain ; 
Robbed sky and sea and landscape of their color, 
Lowered Nature's music to a minor strain. 



[302] 



Could you bivt know one half the bitter trouble 
That all my soul in ceaseless anguish grieves, 
Could you but see the hopeless chaff and stubble 
Of my life's golden sheaves; 

Could you but see them as I see them daily 
A dreadful v^reck I strive to rise above; 
You nevermore would win to trample gaily 
A woman's deathless love. 

Then come not back with well-learned look and tone, 

Caprice or impulse led, 

You are a stranger I have never known — 

The friend I loved is dead. 

So blind, so ignorant are we. 
Like children at their play; 
We toss a pebble in the sea 
And throw a gem away. 

We strew bright blossoms in the sun 
By careless impulse led. 
And when our eager quest is done 
Come back to find them dead. 

Then hold life's precious things with care 
And prize them at their worth ; 
Thou hast ten million stones to spare, 
Thy gems are few, oh earth ! 

There is a lesson often learned 
In life's long road too late, 
And then upon the Memory burned 
With the iron hand of Fate. 



[303 



'Tis this : To early count the cost 
And value at their worth, 
Before by careless haste are lost 
The brightest things of earth. 



THE POWER OF KINDNESS 

Who can weigh the power of kindness, 
Who can read its hidden lore? 
O'er the wrecks of human blindness 
Lo, its showers of mercy pour; 
Over woes and heartaches olden 
Pours its flood of sunshine golden, 
Over stern, unyielding justice 
Fall its beams forevermore. 

Who can tell the power of kindness? 
Child, among the flowers at play ; 
Stranger, far from home and kindred, 
Weary ones along the way ; 
Hush ! a rapture sweet, unbroken, 
Soul to soul hath often spoken 
Words unuttered, yet how many 
Dwell within it silently. 

Could we count the drops that sparkle 

In the ocean's restless brine, 

Could we count the stars that twinkle, 

Or the glittering sands that shine ; 

We might count the germs now lying 

Silent, dormant, yet undying; 

We might count the blossoms springing 

From these lives of yours and mine. 



[304] 



PATIENCE 

Angel with the noiseless wings 
Meek and gentle presence, thou, 
Waiting life's uncertain things, 
How I need thy guidance now; 
Thou, from Heaven's own pearly gate, 
Teach my restless heart to wait. 

Oh, to wait when ships that sailed 
Cheer our anxious sight, no more ; 
Oh, to wait when all unveiled. 
Lie the mountain steeps before! 

Patience, thine own peace create, 

Teach me patiently to wait. 

Let no murmur of complaint 

Breathe its thankless breath to heaven. 

Let my spirit scorn to faint 

Though its fondest hope be riven. 

Heeding not the myth of fate, 

Oh, to truly work and wait ! 

Every blossom waits for rain, 
Every bird for Spring's return; 
Waiting now, I would again 
Strive their precious trust to learn ; 

Trusting, though the dawn be late, 

Trusting patiently, I wait. 

Waiting while the days glide by 

For life's blessing or its bane. 

Though the seasons bloom and die 

Patience never waits in vain ; 
Father, just outside the gate 
Trusting Thee, I calmly wait. 

[305] 



LOOKING BEYOND 

Thank God there is a future, in whose sweep 
These little troubled streams of time and life 
Lose, and forevermore, their song and strife 
As in a bottomless and boundless deep. 

I would not give the Christian's simple faith 
In an existence, endless and complete. 
To lay earth's cities, trophies at my feet. 
To earn the fame earth's proudest nation hath ; 

For oh ! though life (this life) is dear to me 
Full of bright hopes and sweet realities, 
Time is a tangle of perplexities 
And sadness permeates all things that be. 

Who shall restore the lost, the priceless things 
That eager seekers search life's pathway for? 
Who shall health, guiltlessness and youth restore 
Or wealth and grandeur, flown on noiseless wings? 

To many, life is like a long regret ; 
Mistakes and failures, never understood, 
Like weeds, choke out the beautiful and good ; 
Man most remembers when he would forget. 

The errors, follies and the crimes that trace 
Youth's reckless and misguided wanderings 
In hidden hearts have set their deathless stings 
And drawn their anguish lines on beauty's face. 



[306] 



And what is life to him whose days are passed 
In dire affliction, cursed among his kind, 
In youth infirm, in manhood's glory blind, 
Spring's promise blighted by cold winter's blast? 

And after all, though Fortune's favorite 
Long life and happiness and wealth may gain, 
In every heart there is a secret pain. 
Each life must have its bitter and its sweet. 

And when the future generations look 
Back to a past that is our present now ; 
The aching heart and anxious, troubled brow 
Will never mar a page of Memory's book. 

The troubled, tossing torrent and the tide 

Deep and unbroken in its even flow; 

Amid the depths of ocean, who shall know 

Where brooks are lost and mightiest rivers hide? 

What value hath the gem's resplendent ray 
More than the common pebble on the beach, 
When both are borne beyond our mortal reach 
By waves, that none may dare command to stay? 

The happiest and most wretched of mankind 
Hath naught to boast of, nothing to deplore ; 
When they who were are counted as no more. 
The years roll on and all are left behind. 



307 



Life were a dark deceit, a demon's jest, 
A falsehood and a cruel mockery 
If all its high, sweet promises could be 
Only an unsolved problem of the past. 

Thank God, there is a future life where we 
Shall find the treasures we have lost in this 
Nor time, nor tide shall steal away the bliss 
That rolls unbroken as a waveless sea ; 

Where man may start anew with tireless zeal, 
Time left behind, Eternity before. 
Through endless cycles rising more and more 
To understand what Time could not reveal. 

Unburdened by this heavy cloak of clay 
To scale such heights as mortals may not climb 
To solve at last the enigma page of Time, 
Triumphant o'er the despot of decay. 

I would not give the Christian's weakest trust 
That grasps the future life for which we long 
For all the hopes so ardent, high and strong, 
Of this weak life that crumbles into dust. 



308 



REVENGE. 

Not in the expanse of earth or heaven's abyss, 
Can he find peace whose soul hath once known bliss ; 
But now is scorched and withered by the heat 
Of that consuming cup mad fools call sweet 
Revenge, whose galling, lurid, fiery taste 
Has turned brief days to years of wear and waste. 
Wronged by thy best beloved, despised, betrayed, 
By him thou trusted, for whom thou hast prayed; 
ISIake each base Judas suffer all the pangs 
That soul hast suffered from his serpent fangs. 
In righteous anger burns thy tortured soul, 
But wait, each fiery impulse hold, control. 
Though just the every farthing they shall pay. 
Believe me, thou wilt suffer more than they, 
More in the loss of life's sublimest part; 
The God-like nobleness of mind and heart. 
Sometime unto the wronged there cometh rest, 
But never peace to the avenging breast ; 
Upon the actors in life's Judas play 
A patient Christ looks down while angels pray. 



[309] 



THE EARTHQUAKE. 

("He looketh on the earth and it trembleth, he 
toucheth the hills and they smoke." — Psalm 104:32.) 

O language of matchless grandeur, 

Of eloquence truly sublime! 

What words more grandly beautiful 

Are engraved on the tablets of time, 

Than these that come to me sweetly 

Like a voice from the quaking sod. 

Ascribing all power and dominion 

Not to Nature, but Nature's God; 

As full to-day of new meaning 

As when first the psalmist spoke : 

"He looketh on the earth and it trembleth, 
He toucheth the hills and they smoke." 

The hurricane's fearful ravage, 

Leaving death and destruction behind; 

The perils of land and ocean, 

With which life's pathway is lined. 

Sweep by in their awful terror, 

With blighting, withering breath; 

But where shall we go for refuge 

When the solid earth quakes beneath? 

Lo ! 'Tis the voice of the psalmist 

To each quaking age it spoke : 

"He looketh on the earth and it trembleth, 
He toucheth the hills and they smoke." 

'Tis a voice from the burning mountains, 
From their streams of melting rock, 
Bursting forth from fissured craters, 



[310] 



At the earthquake's dreadful shock. 

Will you flee to the hills for refuge? 

Lo, their rock-ribbed sides are rent 

To emit the poisonous vapors 

In the earth's interior pent! 

Stand still in Jehovah's presence. 

Will you still His anger provoke 

Who "looketh on the earth and it trembleth," 
Who "toucheth the hills and they smoke?" 

'Tis a voice from the buried cities, 

From the dust where they long have lain ; 

From their crumbling shrines and idols, 

From the ashes of their slain. 

Was it only a law of Nature, 

When those pent-up vapors became 

A mighty force, that the mountains 

Burst forth in floods of flame? 

Ah ! 'tis the words of the psalmist, 

With their swift destruction yoked : 

"He looketh on the earth and it trembleth, 
He toucheth the hills and they smoke." 

Be calm, oh my soul within me, 

Thy God will thy refuge find; 

Who maketh the clouds His chariot. 

Who rideth on the wings of the wind. 

Whose voice in its awful grandeur, 

As heard in the thunder's crash ; 

Whose arrows flying earthward 

In the lightning's lurid flash. 

May strike down the proud in a moment 

Or splinter the giant oak. 

Who "looketh on the earth and it trembleth. 
Who toucheth the hills and they smoke." 



[311] 



When the solid earth beneath us, 

Grows frail as a tossing boat ; 

There is but one hand can guide it, 

One power that can keep it afloat. 

O ye, who would seek a refuge, 

By a thousand perils awed ; 

Earth is but a storm-tossed vessel. 

There is safety only in God. 

His guidance seek through all danger, 

His love and protection invoke 

Who "looketh on the earth and it trembleth,' 
Who "toucheth the hills and they smoke." 



THE NEW SONG. 

Unto Him who hath loved us be all adoration. 

With the harp notes of gladness the new heaven rings ; 

Who from every kindred and people and nation 

Hath redeemed us and crowned us His priests and His kings. 

Unto Him who hath loved us, no more shall our singing 
Be burdened with discords of sorrow and pain; 
Throughout His pavilion the praises are ringing. 
Of the King who has risen forever to reign. 

Unto Him who hath loved us, on earth and in heaven. 
In the light of His presence no spirit shall grieve ; 
All honor and glory and power shall be given. 
Who only is worthy our praise to receive. 

Unto Him who hath loved us before His throne, falling 
'Midst the holy hushed tremor of seraphim wings; 
His glory and power with glad voices extolling. 
Who hath loved us and crowned us. 
His priests and His kings. 



312] 



UNSAID. 

The last stray gleams of sunshine fade away 

From the gray domes of far Mt. Hamilton, 

While lighting the dim towers of San Jose, 

Burns out the Autumn glory of the sun. 

The guests pass from the door and through the gate, 

The little gate with olive boughs o'erhead. 

My friend sits thinking sadly as if Fate 

Had dropped a few dead blossoms on her head ; 

A few dead orange blossoms sadly sweet, 

That ne'er shall drop their fruitage at her feet. 

My friend moves restless as those who wait 

Some white-winged vessel sailed, that ne'er returns; 

The olives whisper "peace" above the gate, 

The flaming sunset into ashes burns. 

We wander out into the spacious grounds, 

Where orange blossoms scent the silent weeks; 

When softly, as the twilight's whispered sounds, 

My dear friend pauses 'neath a palm and speaks. 

And says with troubled voice and downcast head: 

"The dearest word of all was left unsaid." 

Tell me, palm branches waving victory, 

What power the guiltless evil can forgive; 

The sad regret or restless agony. 

That in one sweet, unspoken message live? 

My California groves are full of song. 

Full of glad thoughts and thrills of happiness. 

Oh human hearts that bear no brand of wrong. 

Oh loving lips that only speak to bless; 

The dew-tears falling on your blossoms dead, 

Are for the words forever left unsaid ! 



[313] 



THE LITTLE TOILER. 

While our tired hands are resting, while our weary feet are 

still, 
While soft slumber calms and quiets busy brain and active 

will; 
There's a little willing worker stationed in each human breast 
That can never stop to slumber, taking but a second's rest. 

Beating, beating. 

Still repeating 
Measured notes of labor's strife; 

Ceasing never, 

Toiling ever 
At the glowing forge of life. 

When our powers in weakness languish and our strength is 

ebbing low. 
When the wheels of thought and feeling at our word refuse 

to go; 
With our eager, restless fingers growing idler day by day, 
At his wheel the little toiler, faithful, steady, works away. 

Throbbing, throbbing, 

'Midst the sobbing 
Of the stricken in the strife; 

Toiling ever, 

Idling never 
At the cistern wheel of life. 

And the keepers all shall tremble and the strong their 
weakness know, 



[314] 



And in sorrows all the daughters of music be brought low; 
And the golden bowl be broken and the silver cord be loosed, 
Ere the little anxious toiler hath his changeless labor ceased. 

Moving slower, 

Beating lower, 
Struggling bravely in the strife; 

First awaking, 

Last in breaking 
At the crimson font of life. 



WOUNDED. 

Once a little song bird caroled 
Notes of perfect ecstasy. 
In bright costume all apparelled, 
Happy as a bird could be. 

Never thought of pain or danger, 
Made his happy song less sweet; 
'Till the footfall of a stranger 
Sounded through his cool retreat. 

Just a red stain on the mosses, 
Just a broken, shattered strain ; 
Just a tiny wing that flutters. 
But will never rise again. 

Lying underneath the grasses, 
Hidden from the sportsman's eye; 
Hour by hour the long day passes. 
Dying, still yet cannot die. 

Thus one sunny day I found it. 
Wounded with a cruel dart; 
With sad silence all around it. 
Was the little bird— a Heart? 

[315] 



A PICTURE. 

There are many beautiful pictures 

Hanging in memory's hall, 
Pictures of hills and valleys, 

Houses and steeples tall; 
Pictures of sunlight and shadow, 

Of faces grave and gay. 
And some that rise from the misty past 

Seem to be far away ; 
But one more beautiful than the rest 

Hangeth apart alone ; 
And the thoughts it awakens are unexpressed, 

'Tis a picture of my home. 
'Tis a little cottage on a hill 

Where the golden sunbeams play, 
While the little lambs o'er the meadow run 

And frolic the livelong day. 
The creek o'er the pebbles flows along 

Past fields of waving grain; 
And the finches and warblers vie in song. 

In one melodious strain. 
The old orchard stands in conscious pride, 

Weighed down with ripening fruit; 
And the oriole fills the scented air 

With his song like a clear-voiced flute; 
But 'tis not for these that I love it best. 

There are many scenes as fair; 
But 'tis for the friends so tried and true. 

For the loving hearts that are there. 
I look and I see my mother, 

Down the grassy hill-slope walk ; 
Leading the little brother, 

Who is just beginning to talk. 
I can almost hear his prattle 

As he laughs in childish joy; 

[316] 



O, how I wish I could see you, 

Our dear little blue-eyed boy ! 
I can see my little sister, 

Who is wise beyond her years; 
How I wish she could ever be free as now 

From all life's cares and fears. 
And all of the other dear ones, 

I can see them all quite well ; 
Without them the beautiful picture 

Would lose its magic spell. 
O, what are earth's fading pictures. 

Or what is the painter's art, 
Compared with the pictures of memory 

Engraven on the heart? 



THE JOY OF LIVING. 

life, more precious than before. 
Because my feet have neared thine end; 
Bright sunshine, flowers and face of friend, 

1 prize you more, I love you more ! 

The balmy ecstasy of morn, 
The joy of all things seeming new; 
Once more to go forth 'neath the blue. 
And to be glad that I was born. 

life, sweet endless life, when I 
Have one glimpse of all thou art, 
Will joy erase from mind and heart 
This shadowy earth, this faded sky! 

If I miss not one cherished face. 

As I have prayed with heart and breath ; 

1 shall forget life's suffering — death. 
Remembering this our meeting place. 

[317] 



HELP E,\CH OTHER. 

Help each other, life's a journey, 
Weary foot-Nvoni pilgTiins, we. 

Traveling: to a better country. 

To a lionie beyond the sea. 

Help each other in the jouniey. 
For we cannot always know 

How the sharp thorns line the pathway 

Of our brothers here below. 

Though we may walk in the sunshine. 

Others may in darkness grope : 

Help thy brothers, comfort, cheer them, 
Point them to the star of hope. 

Comfort one another daily. 
Pleasant words, they little cost: 

Yet their loving, gentle message. 

Can be never, never lost. 

Help thy brother, when temptation's 
Stormy billows o'er him roll ; 

O remember that thy brother 

Hath a never-dying soul I 

Though he may despond or falter. 
His weak stniggle^ don't despise ; 

Even though he may have fallen. 

Help a fallen brother rise. 

Help each other, life is tweeting. 

Time for us will soon be gone; 
Kind acts we will not regret them, 
^^^len a brighter mom shall dawn. 

[31S] 



Do thy little, thouj^h forgotten, 
On the earth svhall be thy name; 

Sometime the dark j^rave shall open 
Where thy buried hopei have lain. 

Cast thy bread upon the waters, 
Waiting not for earthly praise; 

Ye shall find it not forgotten, 

Find it after many days. 

When upon life's stormy billows 
Thy frail, helpless bark Is tossed ; 
O remember! One who watches 
Will not count thy labor lost. 

Do thy duty, stand up bravely 

In the battle of the Lord ; 

Earth 'tis true may never pay thee. 
Heaven will bring thee thy reward. 



[319] 



SLAVERY 

Where the palm groves and bananas in the sunny Tropics thrive, 
Where the parrots' lively chatter makes the jungle seem alive, 
Where the beach-sands sparkle, brightly splashed by warm and 

steaming surf, 
Where the Orient bathers gather on the grassy sand-strewn turf, 

Oh, the foreign trader's vessel, 

Like an eagle out for prey, 

Swooping down for one brief wrestle 

Bore the helpless spoil away! 

Oh, the lonesome wastes of ocean; oh, the far and mournful 

land! 
To the heart of the poor heathen, woe he could not understand; 
Cursed through weary generations, with a thankless load to 

bear, 
None a recompense to promise, none to soothe the present's care ; 

'Twas a sunny land of plenty 

Where the white-winged eagle sped; 

But to him a portion scanty 

That the eaglets might be fed. 

Where the beautiful palmettoes in the Tropic Summer thrive. 
Where bright birds with Freedom's music make the cypress- 
swamps alive; 
Oh, the hopeless child of bondage, torn from Nature's dearest 

ties. 
Labors on for Might's proud despot, or in slow despairing dies! 

'Tis a scene of life engraven 

On the records of the past. 

Hovered o'er by wrong's dark raven. 

With false grandeur overcast. 



[320] 



Cursed be the dark-browed Canaan ; was it God's supreme decree 
That in Japheth's holier presence, he should bend the vassal's 

knee? 
What know we of God's wise purpose? 
Lo, His own almighty hand 

With the sword of heavenly justice banished slavery from our 
land! 

'Twas a struggle long and gory, 

But the hand of God was there; 

To the presence of His glory 

Had been borne an Israel's prayer. 

In His righteous indignation had His holy eyes looked down; 
Was there One who plead before Him who had worn derision's 

crown, 
Who had trod the wine-press sadly, 
Who had borne the tyrant's blow, 
Who had felt in bitter anguish none were with Him in His woe? 

Oh, against wrong's mighty forces 

On the battlefield of earth, 

Who shall say that Heaven's white horses 

Bear no unseen warriors forth! 

To the battlements of evil have those Heavenly chariots flown, 
As when Babylon was fallen and her kingdom proud o'erthrown ; 
With the powers of human justice move they swiftly o'er the 

plain, 
'Till a mightier than Belshazzar in his princely court is slain ; 

'Till the peer of Persia's nations 

Waves her trampled flag afar. 

And above the old plantations 

Rises Freedom's morning-star. 

In his pride the lordly tyrant flings his palace gateways wide. 
All the hosts of earth and heaven by his hand have been defied; 



[321] 



Who can guess the covered secrets deeply buried in his breast? 
Oh, his sons and daughters revel while they slumber unconfessed; 

But through all the scorching noon-tide 

And beneath the sinless moon, 

Toil the fatherless mulatto 

And the "beautiful quadroon." 

Oh, thou dark and mighty evil, thou hast left thy curse behind 
And uncounted generations shall with quickened vision find. 
On the pure and lofty pages of our country's history fair. 
One great blot that wide outspreading mars sweet Freedom's 
record there ; 

And the cotton-fields shall quiver 

With dread mysteries untold, 

And the dim swamp-forests shiver 

With the secrets black they hold ! 

And a mixed, degraded people shall the sunny South invest; 
Lawless, ignorant and vicious in their scanty lives unblest; 
Will ye thoughtlessly upbraid them and their ignorance descry? 
Well might they in truth and candor make to this a just reply: 
" Ye have dared to thus degrade us, 

And our simple minds to mar, 

Come not blindly to upbraid us. 

Ye have made us what we are. " 

But not all on Africa's children was the cloud of evil spent, 
Faith and Truth's divinest altars by the black-winged bolt were 

rent; 
Who enslaves another's manhood with weak human power alone. 
Lays a heavier yoke of bondage thoughtlessly upon his own ; 

With thy bonds of degradation. 

Oh, thou mighty power of sin, 

Through the gateways of our Nation, 

Come no more a traitoress in ! 



[322] 



COALS. 

As baby fingers, eager, restless things. 
Reach out to grasp the cruel, glowing coals ; 
So we reach out for some alluring thing, 
Lying before us bright and glistening; 
Unmindful of the sorrow it may bring. 
Until its blighting scar is on our souls. 

And as a stronger arm extended forth, 

To save the tender flesh from unseen harm ; 

Sometimes just as we think to grasp our prize, 

A wiser will than ours, our wish denies; 

Our Father reaches downward from the skies, 

And holds us back with His almighty arm. 

Our Father see'th all, we see in part, 

Sometime He will reveal to us the whole ; 

Then when He holds us back from some bright glow, 

O let us not rebel and struggle so ; 

The hidden danger He alone can know, 

The glowing thing we want may be a coal. 



[323] 



POSTHUMOUS 

We may praise the workmanship of the skillful architect, 

When the fabric that he rears 

Hath withstood the wear of years, 

And the battles of the elements, its symmetry unwrecked; 

But when with an interest new from its grandeur we may turn, 

Of the magic hand that wrought 

From the outlines of a thought. 

To completeness so colossal and symmetrical, to learn. 

If a record we may find, often 'tis the message solemn 

That the mind of sterHng worth 

Hath been summoned earth to earth, 

And the hand is only dust that reared massive aisle and column. 

We may laud the sculptor's art gazing on his work immortal, 

Where on dome and pedestal 

His illustrious statues dwell. 

Or in form majestic raised to adorn some marble portal; 

From the triumphs of his art, to the artisan we turn, 

Of the magic hand that wrought 

From the outlines of a thought, 

To a s}Tnmetry and stateliness so marvelous, to learn. 

Oh, how often do we find that for years before our time 

That proud chisel gathered rust 

And that hand was only dust. 

And to ashes burned the ardent flame of genius so sublime ! 

We may read the author's lore, all our spirits filling 

With the grandeur of his theme 

And the beauty of his dream, 

With a strange unfathomed power all our being thrilling; 

Then with reverence enkindled from the printed page we turn, 

Of the mind with truth afire. 

Of the genius we admire. 



[324] 



From the archives of the ages, with new interest, to learn, 

Oh, the answer is the same, ere our generation 

That great pen hath gathered rust 

And that hand hath turned to dust, 

And that mind hath left behind only its creation ! 

We may prize the thoughts that live on the artist's canvas, 

Thoughts that bloom in wintr\^ hours, 

Wrought from the enkindled powers 

Of a nature and a mind, stamping their o^^^l impress ; 

With a thought of whose they are and from whom they came, 

we turn. 
Of the place of his abode. 
Of his Hfe's oft chequered road, 

Of his genius and his nature with keen interest, to learn, 
'Tis the same ; the brush that moved o'er the fadeless canvas 
Hath been idle many a day. 
And the despot of decay 
Hath enslaved the might}- brain, leaving but its impress. 

We may Hst to music's power 'till its spell hath bound us, 

Wea^'ing all its silken chords, 

Linked perchance with golden words, 

Like bright fetters of delight clinging gently 'round us; 

But when from its sundered shreds with a new desire we turn. 

Of the soul that in them lives, 

Of the mind that to them gives 

All their meaning and their beaut\' and their mysten,-, to learn, 

Still the records will repeat that the great musician, 

\\'hose notes sway the world at will 

Silent now, ah, strangely still, 

Hath lived out his brief career and fulfilled his mission. 



[325] 



We may revel in the light of each grand invention, 

We may bless the mind that caught 

Inspiration from a thought, 

To perceive earth's mighty forces move, or hold them in 

suspension ; 
But instinctively away from their master-truths we turn, 
Of the reason that revolved, * 

The great problem that it solved. 
All too often to the victor's lifelong injury, to learn, 
And the records as before tell us that the donor 
Of the priceless dower we prize, 
'Neath the frozen marble lies, 
Undisturbed by calumny, eulogy or honor. 

We may read the poet's lay, strong in truth yet tender, 

Waking echoes in our hearts 

'Till the silent teardrop starts. 

With a sympathy responding to its feeling, thought and splendor ; 

But when from its fountain bright we have quaffed, to quickly 

turn. 
Of the spirit and the mind. 
That their image left behind, 

Clear reflected in the light of its crystal depths, to learn. 
Oft, that same weird taper-light o'er our senses flashes; 
Long the pen hath idle lain, 
God hath spoken yet again, 
Earth to earth and dust to dust, ashes unto ashes. 

Poor humanity were they, blossoming and blighting, 

Living out their little day, 

Clearing barriers from our way. 

Kindling beacons that to-day are our century lighting. 



[326 



Debts of gratitude we owe to each fellow mortal 

Who in mind or spirit strong 

Struggled through the ranks of wrong, 

To unfurl his banner bright o'er the future's portal. 

Poor humanity are we in our loftiest stations, 

Whether high our lot or low, 

'Tis our destiny to go 

Sowing golden seeds to bless coming generations. 

For a prize that is not ours we are ever striving; 

Ours, the sower's tedious round, 

Theirs, to reap the fruitful ground, 

Happy if they only prove better for our living. 

We may do illustrious deeds, we may pen grand pages; 

We may sing immortal songs, 

We may trample error's wrongs, 

Or we may but humbly toil for the coming ages ; ^ 

They may gather in the sheaves from our toil upspringing. 

They may laud us for our skill. 

At our golden lore may thrill. 

They may bless our noble deeds, they may praise our singing; 

But when from our work away, to ourselves at last they turn, 

Who we are and whence we came. 

Of the history and name 

Of the few whose names are blazoned on the scroll of Fame, to 

learn ; 
They will find we, too, are dust, who so lately flourished, 
Fallen Autumn leaves at last. 
Of some glowing Summer past. 
Grateful if some violet grow, by our life-leaves nourished. 



[327] 



THE OAK AND THE VINE 

To a stalwart oak a fragile vine 

With its helpless tendrils clung, 

And looking up saw the sunbeams shine 

The lofty boughs among, 

But never content with its low estate, 
Longed like the oak to be noble and great. 

Longed to arise from the dark and damp, 

Of the thicket where it grew ; 

Bask in the light of the sky's bright lamp 

And revel 'neath seas of blue ; 

But the poor little vine, unsought, unknown, 
Was too weak to even stand alone. 

The stately oak felt her clinging touch 
And bowed his haughty head ; 
But he felt too proud to speak to such 
A little thing, so he said: 
" Only a little vine, so small 
Without my aid it would surely fall. " 

But the oak's gaunt trunk was rough and bare, 

Gnarled and disfigured by time. 

And wishing still to be young and fair, 

He let the grapevine climb, 

Saying: "Helpless vine so far beneath. 

You may twine my bark with a glossy wreath." 

Gladly the vine performed its task 

Nor sighed for a higher lot. 

Nor paused in its humble work to ask 

What glory its service brought; 

For, though it was neither great nor high, 
Was it not nearing the lovely sky? 

[ 328 ] 



So the years passed by and the old oak stood 

In its conscious pride the same, 

Nor strove for a higher, nobler good, 

Content with its vaunted fame; 
While the little vine so far below, 
Ne'er lost for a moment its wish to grow. 

Upward, onward, it steadily crept, 
'Till the rough bark was draped with green, 
And then while the haughty monarch slept, 
It clambered the boughs between. 
And gained one morning in ecstasy 
The topmost bough of the old oak tree. 

Brightly the light on its glossy leaves glanced, 

And a bird perched on its stem. 

While the merry sunbeams around it danced. 

In a glistening diadem, 

And at night the moon with a smile benign 
Shone, down on the little helpless vine. 

Years passed and one of the Autumn eves 

Some travelers passed that way. 

Beheld of yellow and crimson leaves, 

A wondrously gorgeous array; 

They paused and cried in their rapt delight : 
"The vine has hidden the oak from sight ! " 

And the tree awoke from its high conceit, 
To find himself at last. 
By the little clinging vine at his feet. 
So wondrously surpassed, 

And cried, in his deep regret, " To me 

Was the loftiest station given. 

But while I boasted nobility. 

The vine was nearest Heaven. " 



329 



THE BRIDAL BELL 

Oh Bridal Bell, lone Bridal Bell ! 

Who shall thy vanished glory tell, 

Where by rude hands now cast aside. 

Thou liest stripped of all thy pride? 

Where are the pale, sweet flowers that wound 

Thy wire frame gaily 'round and 'round. 

And where thy lily clapper white. 

That trembled in the dazzling light? 

Oh Bridal Bell, changed Bridal Bell ! 
What peri rung thy fairy knell? 
What elfin hung thy walls with bloom? 
What wizard wrought thy sudden doom 
In dust and darkness to repine? 
What king deplored a fall like thine? 
The spider strings his voiceless lyre 
In busy haste from wire to wire. 

Oh Bridal Bell, lone Bridal Bell ! 
What magic shall thy gloom dispel? 
Shall hands again thy bareness deck 
Or Beauty yet reclaim her wreck 
From out the debris of the past. 
Where all her vessels lie at last? 
Alas, thy latest meed is won, 
Thou weird, unsightly skeleton ! 

Oh Bridal Bell, lone Bridal Bell ! 

Vague fancies in thy cavern dwell ; 

Thou seem'st like that institute 

To which each minstrel tunes his flute ; 

Like thine the Bridal's brief display 

Oft blossoms but to fade away, 

'Till but its legal ties are left 

[ 330 ] 



Of all Love's faded flowers bereft; 
Its blighted buds of Hope and Trust 
Are trodden rudely in the dust, 
'Till cast aside it lies undone, 
A rude, unsightly skeleton. 

Oh Bridal Bell, lone Bridal Bell ! 
Thou hast a voice for sorrow's knell, 
Yet sing'st not of this alone. 
Thou hast for joy a final tone, 
For fabrics beautiful and rare. 
Fashioned of plighted vows and prayer. 
Whose ties were never stripped of bloom. 
Whose frame no rage of rust could doom. 
For every part of gold was wrought. 
Each coigne with priceless jewels fraught. 
Whence flash the diamond rays of Love, 
Pure pearls of Trust and Faith above, 
And every flower an immortelle, 
Beneath thy belfry. Bridal Bell. 



MY GARDEN 

Once I'd have called this garden, lonely, 

This dreamy garden, full of songs. 

Of roses, birds and just "we" only; 

But I have learned more of earth's wrongs. 

Have learned that souls have starved for these 

Sweet nature things, that are my part; 

Oh, oh, to paint on every heart. 

The sweet, glad blessedness of peace ! 



[331] 



ONE LITTLE GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN 

One thought of holy ecstasy 

Breaks on my spirit's sight 
Like a bright, flashing meteor 

Athwart the skies at night ; 
'Tis not of all the glory 

Eternity may hold, 
That centuries unmeasured 

Shall wondrously unfold; 
'Tis not of all the music 

Angelic choirs shall pour, 
Like rolling ocean billows. 

To break on either shore ; 
My thoughts turn back bewildered, 

Too weak to comprehend 
The unsolved mighty problem 

Of the never-ending end; 
But sometimes vaguely, dimly, 

I seem to realize 
One glimpse of all the glory 

Unseen by mortal eyes ; 
One burst of matchless music. 

That souls redeemed hath stirred ; 
One sweep of that grand melody, 

That ear hath never heard. 
Thou saint, who circling cycles 

Hath borne through seas of bliss, 
I ask not of your triumphs 

From such a world as this ; 
But thou, exultant spirit. 

Freed from a world of woe. 
Who the first glimpse of Heaven 
Hath journeyed out to know. 
Tell me what thrill of rapture, 
Of happiness divine, 

[332] 



Hath thrilled and swayed and overflowed 

That human heart of thine ? 
The dungeon bars behind thee, 

The palace gates before, 
Thou, entering to the presence 

Of God forevermore, 
One burst of Heavenly music. 

One flash of Heavenly light, 
And all beyond thee — glory, 

And all behind thee — night ; 
Life's gift of sin and misery. 

Earth's dower of blight and ban, 
How seem they, when a glimpse of Heaven 

Enters the heart of man? 
Oh, all the strife and discord 

Of years that seemed so long, 
The sound of earthly voices 

That thrilled the world with song, 
The glare of earthly grandeur, 

The pleasure and the pain, 
Life with its doubtful portion 

Of blessing and of bane. 
Left like a heavy burden 

All in the vanished past, 
To rise above corruption, 

A grave-stone at the last ! 
Needs it a vast forever. 

With joy its grief to drown. 
The power of endless ages. 

To bid it crumble down? 
Oh, when within the presence 

Of glory and grace. 
We hear archangel trumpets. 

Behold the Saviour's face. 
Before the crown is brought us. 

Before the palm we wave, 

[ 333 ] 



Before we have forgotten 
The darkness of the grave ; 

When with a song of triumph 
The chains of death are riven, 

The clouds of years will melt before, 
One little glimpse of Heaven ! 



BABY BROTHER 

My little brother sits upon my knee, 
His clear, blue eyes gaze calmly into mine, 
But underneath their sweet tranquillity 
A depth of baby mischief I define. 

Dear little man, thy journey just begun. 
Before thee lies Life's pathway, long and wide, 
Often through shadows, sometimes in the sun. 
With thorns and roses strewn on either side. 

My little brother, let the world go wrong. 
Let Beauty trail her garments in the dust. 
Lost be the music in Life's changing song, 
But let me never lose thy love and trust. 



334] 



THE RIVER OF BLESSING 

Flow gentle river, to the sea 
In cheerful calm serenity, 

Nor pause to question, "Why." 
Rise vapor, from the glistening spray 
And take thy uncomplaining way 

To yonder filmy sky. 

Float fleecy cloud o'er scorching fields 
That now no vernal fruitage yield. 

In sweet, serene content ; 
Fall, gentle rain, o'er field and flood. 
Nor fret that for so little good 

Each tiny drop is spent. 

Bloom, thirsty land and barren shore. 
Life-giving drops like blessings pour 

From wide-flung gates ; 
Smile, gentle river, many a gem 
In Nature's glittering diadem 

Your brow awaits. 



[335] 



A SUMMER FRIENDSHIP 

Think not, my friend, our friendship of a season 
Will with the golden Summer be forgot ; 
Truth hath a grander thought. 
Higher than human fancy, time or reason; 
God writes, "Forget Me not." 

For God, who in His wisdom, love and pity. 

Led us to look into each other's eyes. 

To clasp glad hands, so soon to say good-byes, 

Is leading both to that eternal city 

Where friendship never dies. 

We've known each other, we are friends though parted, 

Heaven is our meeting place 

From life's long journey; standing face to face 

We shall recall a Summer, happy-hearted 

With friendship's holy grace. 

When we shall revel in the sacred beauties 
Of a bright Summer-time that never ends, 
I think we will be glad that we were friends 
Through one brief earthly Summer's joys and duties, 
Then to our Maker will our praise ascend. 

Let us not count our Summer friendship ended, 
I do not think God means it to be so. 
His budding plans unfinished here below 
Are just begun ; what His great mind intended 
Eternity will show. 



[336 



LOVE'S PETITION 

A sharper or more bitter sorrow prove, — 
Hath Fate a keener thrust, 
Than when his dart reveals that one we love 
We cannot trust? 

Is there one thing too hard for God to do, 
One foe (save this) too strong for Him to kill. 
To make the evil, good ; the false heart, true, 
Against its will? 

Out of the dark, dark earth white lilies bloom, 
Faith sings, sometime, somewhere, 
Hope springs immortal from her winter tomb, 
Sin only is despair. 

But is the falsity of those we love 
Unfelt, O Christ, by Thee ! 
Our sin, alas, was this the anguish of 
Gethsemane ? 

Then send, O heaven, when words are mockeries, 
Strong angels from thy throne 
To where in dark, unseen Gethsemane, 
Love prays alone. 



[337] 



FROM THE CITY OF THE LIVING 
TO THE CITY OF THE DEAD 

'Tis the tramp of mighty nations 
Bome across the surging sea, 
'Tis the tread of martialed armies 
Echoed through immensity; 
Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. 
Hark! I hear their heavy tread, 

From the city of the living 

To the city of the dead. 

'Tis the tolling bell's low dirges, 

Borne aloft on every breeze. 

Rolling on in solemn surges 

Over mountains, plains, and seas, 

Tolling, tolling, softly tolling 

While the short, swift years have fled. 

From the city of the living 

To the city of the dead. 

From old ocean's rock-ribbed islands. 
From Sahara's parching floors, 
From fair Scotia's heath-clad highlands. 
Or from Iceland's frozen shores. 
Rolls that march in solemn measure 
While the hosts of earth are led 

From the city of the living 

To the city of the dead. 

Over Egypt's tombs and temples. 
Over ashen Indian braves. 
Over England's ivied abbeys. 
Over old Peruvian graves. 
Rolls the dirge that sadly follows 
Each unto his silent bed 

From the city of the living 

To the city of the dead. 

[338] 



Not a day but hears its sadness 
Not a home but knows its sound, 
Not a town aglow with gladness 
With no graveyard's sacred ground. 
Life enwrapt with brightest promise. 
Hush ! the last decree is said 

From the city of the living 

To the city of the dead. 

When shall life's long march be over, 
When shall death's grim victors halt, 
When shall requiems roll no longer 
O'er cold urn or chiseled vault, 
When shall falling clods be silent. 
When the last sad rite be read, 

From the city of the living 

To the city of the dead? 

Not till all these streets are lonely, 
Not till vacant temples stand. 
Not till homes and shops are empty 
Over every clime and land. 
Not till none are left to sorrow, 
Listening to the ceaseless tread 

From the city of the living 

To the city of the dead. 

Traveling to that silent city. 
One by one to be forgot. 
Would we not lose heart and courage, 
Hope and purpose — were it not 
For our Father's loving mercy. 
Like the golden sunshine shed 
On the city of the living 
And the city of the dead? 



[339] 



THE ANSWER 

Not all unanswered now — the question of my soul 

Asked of the cliff's age-furrowed brow, 

Lost in the billow's roll; 

For softer, grander than human speech 

Are the answering thoughts that soothe and teach, 

Thoughts launched by God, like sea-weed thrown 

On the restless waves of life's great unknown, 

Cast up on life's wave-washed beach. 

Pure, calm, as a dove to its sheltered nest 

My answer came on the wave's white crest. 

The question: (This was the troubled thing — 

A mourning dove with a broken wing.) 

Tell me, oh billows, that roll on roll 

Speak more than all things to the human soul! 

Why must one spirit feel every dart 

That has rent the body or pierced the heart. 

Mental and physical, heart and brain. 

Is there left one link in life's jeweled chain 

That has not quivered with human pain? 

The answer: (This was the heavenly thing — 
A peaceful dove with a jeweled wing 
That fluttered down from the billow's crest 
And crossed its wnngs on a troubled breast.) 
"Thou art given the priceless, jeweled key 
That unlocks the great heart of humanity. 
Thou hast felt their labor, their strife, their pain 
Their weary heartaches, their grief and care, 
Their bitter struggles and dark despair; 
Let not one knock at thy heart in vain." 



[340] 



O little dove with thy folded wings ! 

O billows that utter such wondrous things! 

Ye are thoughts from God; let him send at choice 

The ocean thunder, the still small voice; 

If they speak from One who alone can know 

The height and the depth of our human woe; 

Who has felt each pang of our mortal breath, 

Sin's serpent fang and the night of death, 

And Who o'er the waves of Life's troubled sea 

Calls unto the suffering: "Come unto Me." 

Touched with His compassion for sin and pain, 

In a world that is starving for sympathy, 

Where every heart knoweth its misery. 

May life's hard lessons be not in vain ; 

Content if they teach me one noble song 

That shall lift one life from the wrecks of wrong. 



THE FROST 

It came on a blossomy night of Spring, 

The blight, the blast, the frost; 

It touched the blooms with its icy wing, 

Alas, for the Summer's promised fruit! 

The morning dawned on those blighted blooms. 

They were fragrant still and fair. 

But the hand of death had been there, 

Nor their tiny hearts did spare ; 

Alas, for the life whose heart is dead. 

As the blighted blossoms that hang o'erhead ! 

Alas, for the branches bleak and bare ! 



[341 



SONG 

There are shadows in the sunshine, 
Poison in the roses' breath, 
Nature with her bridal garlands 
Twines the faded flowers of death, 
Tones of sorrow, low and plaintive, 
Tremble through life's merry waltz, 
Since the morn a warning angel 
Whispered gently, "He is false." 

Still my lips repeat the question, 
"Tell me, is the message true. 
When the sunshine still is golden. 
Earth so glad and skies so blue; 
Can it be that you are faithless ? " 
'Gainst the thought my soul revolts, 
Yet it was an angel whispered, 
Softly, gently, "He is false." 

Would he blight my youth's fair beauty 
Just to feed the basest pride. 
Pluck my love's half-opened rose-bud, 
Soon, so soon to cast aside; 
Teach my soul all men are base; 
Love and honor — sculptured vaults — 
All without made fair and lovely. 
All within made dark and false? 



[342] 



If within my woman's bosom 
There were found no faith in man, 
If my heart's once joyous Eden, 
Languished under blight and ban; 
Could you stand acquitted, guiltless, 
Of my young heart's direst faults. 
At an upper bar of justice, 
You who taught me to be false? 

List! It was an angel whisper 

Sent to comfort and reprove. 

Saying : "Wronged and erring doubter, 

Truth is truth and love is love." 

Angel tones are sweetly drowning 

Death's grim dirge and life's wild waltz 

Pouring out in deepest music, 

God is true, though man be false. 



PEACE, TROUBLED SOUL— SONG 

Peace, troubled Soul, peace troubled Soul, 
Over life's sea the angry tempests gather. 
Roll billows roll, roll billows roll, 
Vain be thy strife, unnoticed thine endeavor 
Calm on the bosom of thy God, 
Rest, sweetly rest, to silence awed. 
Rest thou in peace with Heaven, 
Earth hath no refuge given. 
Torn, tossed and tempest driven, 
Rest thou in God. 



[343] 



SONG OF THE WIND 

Wind! in all thy wingless flight, 
What treasure hast thou brought, 

And com'st thou through the solemn night 
With good or evil fraught? 

1 hear the gladness in thy song. 
The sadness in thy wail ; 

As swift thou wing'st thy flight along 
O'er city, hill and vale. 

The stately oaks before thee bow, 

And make obeisance low. 
Oh, tell me, Wind, whence comest thou 

And whither dost thou go? 

The shadows on my chamber floor 

Were playing hide and seek. 
When through the storm's wild rush and roar 

The Wind's voice seemed to speak; 

And in a deeper, mysterious tone 

Of solemn melody. 
Told where its viewless wings had flown, 

And sang this song to me : 

'I crossed the ocean's broad expanse, 

I wrecked the ships at sea, 
I fanned the wavelets where they dance 

To music wild and free. 

I echoed through the lonely caves, 

And played among the rocks ; 
I flung the sea-weed from the waves, 

And chased the gulls in flocks. 

[344] 



I rose above the sandy beach 

And many a jagged cliff, 
Where, far beyond the breakers' reach, 

Their giant heads they lift. 

I tossed the desert's burning sands 
O'er many an unknown tomb, 

I saw the helpless caravans 
Sink 'neath the dread simoon. 

I rustled through the stately palms. 

On many a southern isle; 
I sang my sweet and mournful psalms 

Where tropic sunbeams smile. 

I roamed through Nature's spacious park, 
Through scenes sublime and strange; 

I roared through canons deep and dark 
In many a rocky range. 

I kissed the flowers on sunny days. 
And waved the golden grain. 

And sang my morning hymns of praise 
Through many a leafy fane. 

I frolicked with the pure snowflakes, 

I laughed among the trees; 
And sang above the mountain lakes 

My sweetest symphonies. 

Millions of brooklets join with mine 
Their faintly murmured chants, 

Where through the forest's dim outline 
The flickering shadows dance. 



[ 345 ] 



And where the mighty river rolls 

Forever to the sea, 
'Neath sunlit-skies and starry scrolls, 

We blend our melody. 

From north to south, from east to west, 

I wander wild and free; 
I have no wish to stop and rest. 

My home is land and sea. 

•Millions of years have heard my voice, 
And many more shall know 

Sorrow and gladness, gain and loss. 
Ere I shall cease to blow. 

Not useless, aimless, is my course, 
For He whose righteous will 

Rules all this boundless universe. 
Can bid the winds be still. 

For He at whose divine command 
I take my wandering flight, 

O'er ocean waste, or desert sand, 
Marks out my path aright." 



[346] 



SUPPOSE 

Suppose the sunbeams should say to the roses, 
"You are wasting your time, oh, what are you worth? 
Each useless rosebud the morn uncloses 
Should bloom a sunbeam to light the earth." 

And the roses, drooping their heads of beauty, 

Should wither and die ere the day began, 

And say, "Oh, the sunbeams can do their duty, 

We have no part in the world's great plan !" 

But the roses were never made for shining. 

Any more than the sunbeams to breathe perfume; 

So each, without murmuring or repining. 

Does its part in dispelling earthly gloom. 

O the roses ! the roses ! they cannot lighten 
A hemisphere with a flood of light. 
But they do their best in the world to brighten 
Gloom that is darker than earthly night. 



DEVELOPMENT 

A naturalist watched with a wondering awe, 
A winged beauty struggling its way to the light; 
Such strivings, and pantings, and strugglings, he saw 
Then, gorgeous wings spread, without blemish or flaw. 

Another cramped life was in strife to expand. 
The naturalist opened the close, cruel door, 
And the inmate crept out by the help of his hand; 
But a colorless creature the naturalist scanned. 

Dull, lusterless wings, undeveloped, and small, 
And the naturalist cried : "Even so 'tis with man. 
We must struggle and strive, we must rise when we fall, 
Life's a struggle for light, or 'tis nothing at all !" 

[347] 



THE RESCUER'S REQUEST 

Listen, did you not hear the cry, 
That strong, weak wail of agony. 

Of a drowning, struggling soul? 
Oh, could I still to the rescue fly, 
To live with them or with them to die 
Ere the waters o'er them roll ! 

Hark! 'tis the cry of a last despair. 

Lost, lost, on the merciless air; 

Tell me, oh friends, midst the storm and flood, 

Did I do all that I could? 

My cold lips prayed for Herculean power 

In the frightful spell of that awful hour. 

When frightened face and when failing form 

Were all I saw in the raging storm; 

When the strong grew weak and the weak grew strong. 

And the moments were years, unsolved and long; 

When faces were turned to me 

Frozen and white in their agony. 

There was one who sought me with pleading eyes, 

God only knows where his pale form lies. 

There was one who reached out her hands in vain. 

Can I ever forget that cry of pain, 

While her long, bright tresses, like seaweed strands, 

Floated out as she lifted those hopeless hands! 

And a child's sweet, silent face went down, 

And that hoary head with its glory crown; 

While the scoffer's curse and the Christian's prayer 

Mingled together on the burdened air; 

Is there on my hands one drop of blood? 

Tell me, did I do all I could? 



[348] 



friends, you tell me no other arm 

Like mine drew back from impending harm 

The crowd who rushed from the blazing deck, 

Or the crew who clung to the shattered wreck ; 

No other hand was so strong to save 

The struggling souls from a watery grave ; 

No other dared like myself to grasp 

Chill forms from the water's icy clasp, 

Nor sacrificed on that sinking deck 

Their life's young strength to a hopeless wreck! 

Oh, tell me no more where another failed. 

Where their strength gave way or their courage quailed : 

There were fellow-men in that struggling storm, 

With hope aglow and with life-blood warm 

For perishing manhood and womanhood; 

Did I do all that I could? 

If one was lost whom I might have saved. 

What care I for aught that I bore or braved. 

If a human cry rung on the air. 

That I might have calmed in its last despair? 

Speak not of the few whom these hands have saved ; 

Tell not of the perils I met and braved ; 

The cries of the drowning disturb my rest, 

Tell me, oh, this is my one request. 

That no sinking soul on the waters tossed. 

Whom I might have saved, was lost! 

Oh, I can hear the drowning call, 

1 could not save them all. 

They sink, I hear it, that sickening thud ; 
My God, did I do all that I could? 



[349] 



THE YEARS OF OUR LIVES 

We spend our lives as a tale that is told in a lonely watch of the 

night, 
Like a changing story written down on the pages, pure and white, 
By a flickering taper giving out its weak, uncertain light. 

The days of our years, ah! these the links of which the chain 

is wrought, 
With the heart's deep feeling intertwined and the mind's 

unceasing thought, 
Each hath its romance interwove with its own peculiar plot. 

They are strangest stories, these lives of ours, that our aching 

hands have penned. 
Success and failure, joy and grief, through their mystical mazes 

blend. 
Strength, labor, and sorrow, their broken thread from beginning 

unto the end. 

O, many a blot and sad mistake do the pages white contain. 
And the things we are writing with feeble hands, we may never 

erase again, 
'Till our living chapters are brought to light from the dark where 

they long have lain ! 

Many critic eyes on the story gaze, but they cannot read the whole, 

Not 'till the hidden histories shall the hand of God unroll. 

Not 'till the eye of God shall read and perfect the blotted scroll. 

He shall correct the sad mistakes we have thoughtlessly put 

therein. 
He shall the hateful blots erase, till as white as when we begin, 
Nor cast the work of our lives aside for aught but uncanceled 

sin. 



[350] 



Then shall the loving angels read, with their vision deep and clear, 
The beautiful, faultless chapters kept of every erring year, 
When in the archives of all time, our humble lives shall appear. 



EXISTENCE 

We waken vaguely, dreamily at first, as from a slumber deep. 
Waken to feel, to think, to love, to hate, to smile and weep ; 
Waken to sin and sorrow, to a widening view 

Of many things strange, wonderful and new; 
We take unsought what life hath dared to give. 

To be, to do, to live; 
We question our existence, in reply 

They tell us we must die. 

We learn of God and man, of earth and heaven. 

Of evil punished and of wrong forgiven. 

Of an immortal life beyond the grave. 

Of One from heaven who came on earth to save; 

We doubt or trust. 
We fall asleep, we slumber, we are dust. 
And is this all, O God, this petty play. 

This drama of a day ; 
This tragedy enacted o'er and o'er 
Of sin and grief and pain and little more? 
In Thy great heart, safe kept from wrangling strife, 
Thou hast the keys of life ; 
Thine to explain the things half-understood. 

Evil and good 
Rise up before us and demand our powers ; 

The choice is ours. 



[351 



TWILIGHT THOUGHTS 

I am sitting in the gloaming, 

In the gloaming all alone; 
Listening only to the moaning 

Of the organ's plaintive tone ; 
Hearing but the distant footsteps 

Of the ages that have fled; 
Seeing but the shadowy faces 

Of the nations long since dead. 

Long, long years ago they wandered 

In the paths we daily tread. 
For a little while they pondered 

On the living and the dead ; 
Then they passed away in silence 

To the cities of the dumb; 
Making way for those who followed. 

Making room for us to come. 

O remote and distant ages, 

Unknown tribes or empires grand ; 
Whether savages or sages, 

Ye have written on the sand, 
And the sands of time dissolving 

Into life's great ocean tossed. 
Year by year grow faint and fainter. 

Few indeed are never lost. 

These, like monuments are standing, 
O'er the tombs of millions more; 

Names that age to age are handing. 
Landmarks left along the shore 



[352 



Teaching us how brief our stations, 
How our glories must decay, 

Pointing to the generations 

Who have Hved and passed away. 

So I'm sitting in the gloaming, 

In the gloaming all alone; 
While my phantom thoughts are roaming 

Through the ages that have flown; 
Musing here in solemn silence 

By the landmarks on the shore. 
How each moment bears us farther 

From the great and good of yore. 

Farther from their grief and glory, 

Nearer to the close of ours ; 
Farther from their song and story, 

Nearer to our fading flowers; 
For our feet are daily slipping, 

Slipping from life's changing stage; 
Making room for nations coming, 

Nations of a later age. 



[353] 



CALIFORNIA'S WOODLANDS 

Ye timbered pastures, bright with Autumn splendor, 

Yet softened with the haze by distance lent, 

What hallowed memories, sublime and tender. 

Are with your glories blent ! 

Thrilled by the passing touch of magic fingers, 

From pathless thicket to sky-reaching dome, 

A peaceful solace ever gently lingers 

And breathes of home. 

Home! that one spot, wherever situated. 

Clothed with a grace no other clime may share, 

From her bright precincts, by her love created, 

Spring fadeless wreaths that later years shall wear; 

Around her lowliest paths of daily duty 

Gush rippling fountains, from Youth's glistening sands 

Flow down the years, and dim with heaven-born beauty. 

The glare and glitter of all other lands. 

So in your shades, I love to muse and ponder 

On moments yet to be, 

When no more fresh to Youth's awakening wonder. 

Your joys shall steal the shades of memory. 

In your still aisles and forest sanctuaries. 

Sacred as with the silent hush of prayer, 

Spring for her farewell kiss the longer tarries 

On Summer's golden stair; 

And here old Autumn paints in rich profusion 

Madroiia berries and bright leaves of flame, 

Then steals from out the forest's sweet seclusion, 

Telling not whence he goes, or whence he came. 

Beneath those gnarled old trees, antique and hoary, 

Sear leaves have echoed to the Indian's tread, 

And lovers oft have told the old-time story, 

While birds sang overhead. 



[354] 



When Spring with fragrant breath and flower-wreathed tresses 

Returns with dewdrops in her silken locks, 

With lavish hands the frozen woods she blesses 

And the mad cataracts leap o'er the rocks ; 

The tiny lake beneath the oak's gaunt branches 

Shall overflow her rim, 

While eddying circles whirl in graceful dances, 

And dainty violets wreathe her mossy brim; 

Then the proud fir in vernal gladness carries 

Above her dark green branches, lighter plumes, 

The forests change their bright madrona berries 

For manzanita blooms. 

But now they lie in Autumn's pensive glory, 

Like the bright sunset of a shorter day 

That only burns to end the beauteous story 

And pass away; 

So all these gleaming flames of gold and amber 

A sad, sweet theme pervades, 

Down shining steeps, the gloaming shadows clamber 

And the bright sunset fades; 

So o'er these Autumn woods, now robed in splendor, 

Winter will spread his pall; 

The lonely pines in sighings soft and tender 

Shall mourn their fall. 



[355] 



THE UNATTAINED 
(A Sunset Harmony.) 

My friend come with me to the ferny brink 

Of this clear spring shut in by clustering trees 

And from my cup the crystal coolness drink, 

Is this the end to live, to love, to think, 

And thus to quench that still unsatisfied and longing thirst 

For sk>'-flight — 'till the bird its cage would burst 

Unsoothed by things like these, — 

Siesta, friendship, thought, stagnation gained? 

Through these still trees 

I catch a soul-glimpse of those sunset towers, free and unchained, 

A glimpse of silver seas and golden shores 

And city turrets, — thrones where thought has reigned — 

I almost hear the plash of amber oars, 

I almost see the thrill of fluttering sails, 

But not with earthly eyes. 

Too far it lies 

In the dim distance of the unattained. 

Somewhere far back 

Sweet visions of a sunrise threw their glow. 

Across the path my child-faith longed to go; 

But that is gone, sometimes I half forget 

That brightening dawn 

Of hope and faith and high ambition's flight. 

For life goes on and on, 

A level plain, a toilsome beaten track. 

With here and there a wood, a sheltered spring, 

A little flower to bloom, a bird to sing. 

But I will not look back. 

No : better forward to that grand eclipse 

Of all that man has sought for or has gained, 

The sunset vision of the unattained. 



356 



What though my feet had reached the utmost round 

Of all my early hopes, and plans, and aims, 

Still earthly ladders reach but earthly ground ; 

And though my heart is pained 

So often, that I was too weak to climb 

To those loved heights 'till passed the golden time ; 

Earthward sometimes there is from Heaven let down, 

A higher path than man has ever gained, 

Above the weak acclaim of passing crowds, 

Above earth's mountain peaks, 

Upon the clouds 

For him who fails to climb earth's dizzy heights. 

Whose patient sweetness is his only crown. 

God writes, 
And from white cloud scrolls His bright promise speaks. 
When to aspiring souls that have not gained their earth desires. 

God lights 
His sunset fires and dims the glory of earth's unattained. 



GREAT FORCES 

The thunder's roll attends the lightnmg's play, 

Great love is silent and great grief is mute. 

Great thoughts have in great acts their perfect fruit 

No flash, no noise, when Purpose marks her way; 

The mighty force that midst the stars might flash. 

From cloud to cloud in stirring thunder's crash, 

Comes down to earth through dust and smoke to move, 

In unseen silent usefulness to prove 

Her greatness, highest, noblest, grandest when 

She bears the humble messages of men. 



[357] 



DEFECTS 

The surface of polished metal 

Is marred by a speck of rust, 

And a lily's pure, white petal 

Is stained by a touch of dust, 

And the white bird's wings are spotted 

Should he trail them once in the fen. 

And the clear, white page is blotted 

By one careless turn of the pen; 

The sculptor's work uplifted 
By a hasty stroke is defaced. 
And the work of years is rifted 
By a moment's careless haste ; 
The purest in form or color 
Is spoiled by a line, a stain. 
In the more imperfect and duller 
Defects do not show so plain. 

Then learn that the mind's bright metal 
Is marred by a touch of rust. 
Then dip not thy soul's white petal 
Once low in the mire and dust. 
And trail not thy wings so spotless 
In the murky depths of the fen ; 
Would the page of thy life be blotless. 
Then write with a careful pen. 



[358 



For the character slowly erected 
May be crushed by a hasty blow, 
And the symmetry years have perfected 
One moment may lay it low, 
And the world that with look upgazing 
Has stared at thy stainless name. 
Perhaps with no word of praising, 
Will cover thy past with blame. 



U. S. GRANT. 

Dead! The swift wires brought the message, 

And a Nation's grief replied, 

Dead! Columbia's noblest hero 

In the land he loved has died. 

He who braved the fire of battle. 

He who faced the storm of war, 

He who vanquished mighty armies. 

Earth's most honored conqueror. 

Mourn Columbia, o'er thy waters 

Sounds the death knell of thy brave. 

Droop thy proud old flag in sadness, 

'Tis the flag he fought to save; 

He shall sleep where none may waken. 

In the land he loved so well; 

But thy unborn generations 

Shall his deeds of valor tell. 

Over Orient lands he traveled. 

Foreign nations made him room, 

Heathen empires spread before him 



[359] 



Their rich fruitage and their bloom; 
But not one of them could claim him, 
O'er the ocean's pathless foam 
Faithful vessels bore him safely 
Back again to friends and home. 
Eg)'pt's tombs nor India's temples 
Shall his precious dust inclose; 
Nor in Britain's ivied abbeys 
Shall our sacred dead repose. 
But his own, his native country, 
Shall protect his lettered stone; 
Proud Columbia, draped in mourning. 
Claims her hero for her own. 
Rest in peace thou veteran warrior. 
All thy victories are past; 
On thy ear shall no more thunder 
Cannon's roar or trumpet's blast. 
'Till thy peaceful, slumbering ashes. 
Resting 'neath thy country's sod, 
Shall awake with countless millions 
At the mighty trump of God. 



[360] 



REMEMBER THY CREATOR. 

Remember thy Creator in the bright days of thy youth, 

Ere sins and sorrows later may choke the germs of truth ; 

Give to thy Maker's service thy best and brightest hours, 

Sow not wild tares and thistles, but strew the world with flowers. 

Chorus. 
Come join our youthful army, 
Come seek to learn the truth ; 
Remember thy Creator 
In the bright days of youth. 

Remember thy Creator, for He remembers thee, 
In countless blessings scattered o'er earth and sky and sea ; 
He sent His son, our Saviour, in mercy and in love, 
To lift the lost and fallen and bid them look above. 

CJioriis. 
Come join, etc. 

Remember thy Creator in songs of grateful praise. 

In prayers and words and deeds of love, through all thy youthful 

days; 
In lifting up thy brother as Christ hath lifted thee 
From chains of death and bondage to life and liberty. 

Chorus. 
Come join, etc. 

Remember thy Creator before the years draw nigh. 
When weary of a wasted life we only wait to die; 
He wants our joyful service while we are young and strong, 
A mighty army marching against the ranks of wrong. 

Chorus. 
Come join, etc. 

[361] 



REMEMBRANCE. 

Sometimes, I think, we never do forget; 

The friendly face, the word, the smile, the tear, 

May slumber undisturbed for many a year ; 

The chariot wheels of Memory revolve 

And lo, before us looms the thing we deemed 

Forgotten, though of which we one day dreamed 

And had but slumbered w^hen we thought it dead. 

These things can never die, though lethargy 
May wrap them in its solitude profound ; 
Yet they are not extinct, but wrapped around 
With the dark chrysalis — unconsciousness ; 
Till, unexpectedly, the m3^stic spell 
Is broken, — Memory's living beams dispel 
The sweet forgetfulness that veiled the past. 

We lay the past aw^ay as on a shelf 
Deep in the hidden labyrinth of the mind. 
And there are volumes that we fail to find ; 
As oft a misplaced book is counted lost 
When only screened from sight in some recess. 
Each thought leaves on the mind its own impress. 
And though but faintly, not to be erased. 

O sweet Forgetfulness thou art but brief, — 
A trance that sways the senses for an hour 
As morning dewdrops glitter on a floAver ! 



[362] 



What would not millions give to have thee stay 
To cover up the memories Time records 
As with a burning pen in loving words 
That e'en though stifled wake to life again ! 

In thoughtless circles, mingling with the dance, 

In haunts of drunkenness and revelry. 

We find them striving to drown ^Memory; 

Amid the fascination of the hour 

Each his own phantom for a while pursues, 

Hoping himself in some charmed spell to lose 

Or find the fountain of oblivion. 



THE DESERT CAMEL 

Trackless and bare are the sands of the desert 
No verdure adorns them, no green tree is there ; 
Parched by the winds and the hot, scorching sun rays, 
Strewn with white bones lying bleaching and bare, 
Like a vast ocean of rolling sand surges 
Beaten and driven like waves on the deep. 
Changing and shifting in wildest confusion 
In the hot wind-storms that over them sweep. 
Patiently, slowly, across the vast ocean 
Plod the strong camels, so faithful and true; 
Ships of the desert, with merchandise laden. 
Gladly for them comes the harbor in view. 
Onward they toil on their long, weary voyage. 
While never a blade of grass blesses their sight ; 
Cheered through the day by the songs of the Arabs, 
Resting upon the bare sand-waves by night. 



[363 



TO MY PANSIES. 

Pansies, your drooping, sleepy heads low bending 
Beneath the gentle moon's transforming beams, 
While myriad stars their varied ways are wending, 
Tell me your dreams. 

In deepest shades of yonder oak and willow 
The breeze has rocked the baby-birds to sleep. 
While o'er your lowly fringed and dewy pillow 
Moonbeams and shadows creep. 

Have you no dreams, with your shy, tender faces 
Turned from the silvery light. 
While on your heads a thousand airy graces 
Their forms unite? 

Do no weird fancies, steeped in thought and feeling, 
That man with all his wisdom never guessed, 
Come through the shadowy moonlight softly stealing 
To charm your rest? 

Ah ! willful pansies, I would guess their meaning 
And steal some of their honeyed sweets away ; 
But keep your pretty secrets, pansy dreaming. 
An elfin might betray. 

On yonder hills the blushing Bride of Morning 
Scatters the mists beneath her sunny smile; 
The few faint stars her cloudy robes adorning 
Your eyes beguile. 

Awake, my pansies, choristers are singing, 
On golden wings their artless notes are borne; 
Lo ! from your leafy buds in rapture springing 
Ye greet the morn. 

[364] 



Each tiny face wears some distinct expression 
Stamped in its royal dyes, 
Linked with a universal, shy confession 
Of sweet surprise. 

Into the heavens your wondering eyes are staring 
As if to penetrate their burning lamp 

While mosses, round your feet, fresh dewdrops wearing, 
Lie cool and damp. 

Into each beauteous face I gaze with pleasure. 
That no distrust attends; 
I find in you, what I have learned to treasure, 
Unchanging friends. 

Sweet sympathy, that boon of earth's denying, 
That surest balm for care. 

Wafting from upper fonts your wants supplying, 
Ye sweetly share. 

Ye are to me a silent inspiration 
With voiceless teachings blent, 
X learn of you (though in the lowliest station) 
To be content. 



[365] 



PATHS 

The mountain lifts its burly form 

To Summer's sun and Winter's storm, 

And gully, slide and deep ravine 

Give proof of tempests that have been. 

Yet Spring still clothes her slopes with flowers 

Au'i grasses bend to April showers; 

Adown the mountain's sides are wound, 

O'er grassy slopes and rocky ground. 

From the great boulders' topmost place 

To the cool lakelet at its base, 

Steep hillside paths that twist and turn 

Till lost to sight in rush or fern. 

The deer's impatient hoof has torn 

The dewy turf at earliest morn. 

The sheep has trodden grass and weeds 

In winding paths wher'er she feeds. 

The goat has worn his narrow way 

To the great boulders, grim and gray. 

Two mountain paths among the rest, 

One from the east, one from the west. 

Wind zigzag down the steep incline 

Through sapling growths of fir and pine, 

Through rocky gulch and deep ravine. 

O'er sunny slopes, huge rocks between. 

Through laughing rivulets that play 

In gladness down their shallow way. 

Where tend'rest spring flowers bloom and fade. 

Through light and shadow, sun and shade; 

Till, nearing each the other's route 

They turn abruptly now and meet 

Where a great oak spreads out his limbs 

And chants his breezy forest hymns; 

And now together, broader grown. 



[366 



Descend the mountain-side in one. 

Thus, though unrealized — unseen, 

Our life-paths meet and intervene, 

Cross and recross in life's swift loom. 

In shade and sunshine, light and gloom, 

And two, beginning far apart. 

Wind round the earth from where they start 

Till meeting, hence through shade and sun 

Two life-paths mingle into one; 

Thus, through the world in devious ways, 

We journey with the fleeting days ; 

Thus, down life's mountain path descend, 

Knowing not whence our steps shall bend : 

Certain of naught but that each route, 

Each zigzag path, shall reach the foot. 



STARS 

There are stars so high above us. 

In the gardens of the skies, 

That to reach them angel pinions 

Must be given us to rise; 

There are little stars around us. 

Twinkling in the dewy grass. 

That we may gather, twining 

Wreaths and garlands as we pass; 

Then shall we scorn these lower stars. 

Nor heed what they may teach, 

Because the stars above us 

Are too high for us to reach? 

We may wreathe earth's common blossoms 

Into crowns of light and love. 

Though we may not climb to gather 

Those higher stars above. 



[367] 



SORROWS 

They laid beneath the senseless ground 
The noble brow, the active limbs; 
They softly chanted burial hymns, 
There was no other sound. 

She stood alone, with head bent low, 
She, the young, beautiful and good; 
Alas, her blighted womanhood, 
For she had loved him so! 

She turned away, life is not brief 
Whose best beloved face is gone. 
Still, still to suffer and live on. 
This, this it is to die of grief. 

She saw the sunshine strangely dim, 
She saw bright flowers, no longer bright ; 
Earth's color, beauty, music, light, 
Had faded out with him. 

She faced the world vrith faltering breath, 
She worked, she smiled, she slept, she waked, 
None saw the human heart that ached. 
Has earth a sadder thing than death? 

But evermore she hid her pain 
And whispered softly to her grief : 
"O heaven is long and earth is brief, 
Yet shall we meet again ! " 

But once she met a face so grieved, 
She half forgot her heart's dull care 
Before that vision of despair, 
Of hope and peace bereaved. 

[368] 



She sought the wounded one and said : 
"I too have suffered, tell me all, 
Between us pride shall raise no wall. 
Our hopes alike are dead." 

"Sweet sympathy shall soothe our pain. 
The dead are freed from all our grief; 
Heaven is so long and earth so brief, 
Yet shall we meet again."' 

The pale lips said, with quivering breath : 
"You have no shattered shrine of trust. 
Truth is immortal in the dust. 
Earth has a sadder thing than death ; 

Heaven for the false provides no open door, 
I have been wronged and cruelly deceived 
By one I loved and trusted and believed. 
And we shall meet no more." 



TO THE FLOWERS 

Bright little day stars 

Scattered all over the earth, 
Ye drape the house of mourning 

And ye deck the hall of mirth. 

Ye are gathered to grace the ballroom, 
Ye are borne to the house of prayer. 

Ye wither upon the snowy shroud, 
Ye fade in the bride's jeweled hair. 

Ye are relics of bygone ages. 

From Eden inherited. 
To gladden the homes of the living, 

And mourn on the graves of the dead. 

[369] 



THE DEPARTED FRIEND 

And thou art gone, whose sympathy made days 

Of nervous dread and silent agony 

Into thank-offerings of prayer and praise 

For one kind friend, one who was kind to me ! 

Oh, you may think it was the daily acts 

Of thoughtfulness, all for my comfort done! 

Often the setting its bright jewel lacks, 

A hollow thing when sympathy is gone 

Is the cold deed — that lifeless ministry 

That freezes all the springs of hope in me. 

Think not I have forgotten one who cares. 



THE RED LINNET 

In Spring, when the roses are loaded with buds. 
And the oak-tree has put on her new leafy dress. 
When the hill-slope, just washed in the late wintry floods, 
Is spread with a carpet of blossom-starred grass ; 

Where sweet baby-blue eyes peep up to the light, 
And sun-drops lie just as they dropped from the sun. 
And the tea-flowers lift up their wee blossoms of white 
By the shooting stars, saucy and ready for fun ; 

Then comes the red linnet, so joyous and gay. 
To build and to brood in the oak's scattered shade. 
And sing his sweet ballads on trellis and spray 
Till joy bounds ecstatic o'er meadow and glade. 



[370] 



THE FORGOTTEN GRAVE 

Beside a lonely and neglected grave 

I paused and watched the tangled grasses wave 

Mournfully to and fro; 
A rude, unlettered slab still strove to keep 
Its lonely vigil o'er the grass-grown heap 
Where bereaved love had wept and ceased to weep, 

Long years ago. 

The lonely pines wailed forth a plaintive dirge, 
Like the low moaning of the ocean surge 

Through hollow caves. 
Till with an inner consciousness, I heard 
A voice, that through the moaning branches stirred 
With the weird melody in every word 

Of restless waves. 

"I am forgotten, summers bloom and die 
And careless strangers wander heedless by 

My lonely tomb ; 
But long, long years my pulseless heart has slept 
Since love above its moldering ashes wept. 
And where the myrtle's graceful garlands crept 

Rude thistles bloom. 

'T am forgotten, yonder marble pile, 

Where through the golden days tall lilies smile 

And jasmines cling. 
Is decked anew each day with loving care 
While sorrow kneels in tearful anguish there 
And love bestows in silent, mute despair 

Her offering. 



[371] 



"I am forgotten, not a tear doth fall, 
Memory no more my image shall recall 

Or mourn my doom ; 
Nature's impartial hand alone doth strew 
My silent bed with tears of crystal dew 
And sunbeams slanting rifted cloud-drifts through 

Deck my lone tomb. 

"I am forgotten, fragile flowers of yore. 

Choked by the weeds, gave the brief conflict o'er, 

Nor left a trace; 
Farther each year my tidal wave recedes 
From memory's shore, but no one heeds 
Or calls to mind my long-forgotten deeds, 

Lost form or face. 

"I am forgotten, yet from my still bed 
I hear the names of the illustrious dead 

In deathless song; 
Often these eyes on honor's scroll have gazed 
Where deathless eulogies triumphant blazed, 
Alas ! to pass unhonored and unpraised 

From out the throng. 

"I am forgotten, Fate's austere decree 
Marked out for mine that dreaded destiny 

To be forgot; 
My little day of hope and fear is done, 
I lie unnoticed now from sun to sun 
And wail from thy lone depths, oblivion, 

Remembered not." 



[372] 



Among the pines the last wild wail was lost, 
But still the wind their moaning branches tossed 

Against the sky ; 
When in my heart a slumbering voice awoke, 
And, though no sound the solemn stillness broke, 
From out my inner consciousness it spoke 

And made reply : 

"O lonely pines, chant your sad dirge no more, 

melancholy voice, no more deplore 

Thy common lot; 

1 stand above the earth, below the sky. 
Below the angel choirs that sing on high. 
Above the unknown dead whose ashes lie 

By man forgot. 

"There is a love that hath its vigil kept; 
There is a power, an eye that hath not slept 

Above thy dearth ; 
Mortal, whate'er thy long-lost form may be, 
In the vast archives of eternity 
Still lives above frail human memory 
Thy name, thy worth." 



[373] 



CHARACTER 

Oh! who would be flattered with praise undeserved 
Or with honors that are not his due? 
Oh ! who in the curse of a hypocrite's garb 
Would friendship and fortune pursue? 

Oh ! who would be proud of a virtuous name 
That has not its fountain within? 
Oh ! who would be proud of a record of fame 
Defiled by a record of sin? 

Better to know that our motives are right, 
Though others may never applaud; 
Better to see all our fondest hopes blight 
Than be false to ourselves or our God. 

Better to act with a noble design 

And drink slanders, wormwood and gall, 

Than be sung to the heavens for motives sublime. 

And know they were narrow and small. 

Reputation may fade like a false, fickle dream, 
When we stand before God's judgment bar. 
But firm shall stand character (not what we seem) 
But just what we truly are. 



374 



MY SANCTUM 

Have you seen my princely sanctum where I sit? 

Oh ! an artist or a queen might covet it ! 

When I raise my eyes such perfect pictures meet my gaze, 

Not an artist or a poet but v^ould stop to praise. 

Hung about it, hung above it, on its ceiling, on its floor. 

Never was a palace frescoed by a greater hand before ; 

For the echoing vaults above me are all trembling, floating 

leaves. 
Swaying, quivering, where the sunshine and the shadow in- 
terweaves ; 
And the cool, cool depths of water, ripple, dimple at my feet, 
And fantastic roots are braided for my lowly little seat. 
Clear is the untarnished mirror where the stream is deep. 
Where the grand old trees' reflections calmly lie asleep ; 
I can see my face within it, when I stoop, 
Framed by branches that above me sway and droop. 
And the pictures, there are mountains, there are forests on my 

walls. 
And such color, and such distance, and such light upon them 

falls. 
White clematis and pale, wild roses drape the fence, 
Wild blackberry vines are trailing in luxuriance. 
Drooping low to kiss the water, berries ripening in the sun, 
Green leaves dropping on the streamlet's surface slowly, one 

by one. 
Have I music up above me in an unseen gallery? 
Golden voices chant a chorus gaily, gladly merrily; 
While somewhere from softening distance coos the mourn- 

dove, plaintive, sad; 
Is my own heart like their music, never altogether glad? 
Are their voices, saddest voices, stealing softly unaware. 
Softening down the wild, sweet rapture of the happy songbirds 

there? 
'Tis so like it, 'tis so like it, — all this beauty's dream 
And those minor notes that sadden all the joyous theme ! 

[375] 



WORKERS 

Call no work low that is honest; 

Honest toil never degrades ; 

Rather the thief and the sluggard 

Unerring justice upbraids; 

Scorn, who of scorn are deserving, 
Praise, to whom praises are due ; 
Honor to every true worker 
Under the red, white and blue. 

Praise for your noble example. 
Honor for idleness spurned. 
Long may you reap the unsullied 
Blessing of benefits earned ; 

Kingly is loyal endeavor, 

Noble the task that is true; 

Duty is never degrading, 

Do what your hands find to do. 

Into the mills and the factories. 

Into the quarries below; 

Into the field and the forest. 

Bravely and cheerfully go ; 

But for the wheels ye are turning. 
But for the timber ye hew, 
But for your toil in the harvest, 
What would the nation pursue? 

Yours is a praiseworthy calling. 
Stain not its record by crime ; 
'Tis yours to make it ennobling, 
'Tis yours to make it sublime ; 

Wield not the sword of transgression, 

Be noble-hearted and true; 

Scorn to be anarchist traitors, 

Under the red, white and blue. 

[376] 



Justice will come to the worthy, 
Right at the last will prevail, 
History grandly repeats it, 
Time never knew it to fail ; 

Wait is the gold key of justice. 

Justice will open to you ; 

Truth is the only sure watchword, 

Truth will yet carry you through. 

Scorn to the men or the women 

Who honest labor despise; 

Near be the day in the future, 

When such false sentiment dies ; 
Deep be the grave where 'tis buried. 
May none e'er bring it to view ; 
Servants are good as their masters 
If they're as upright and true. 

By all the trampers and loafers 

Making their country's worst bane. 

By all the truly degraded 

Living on ill-gotten gain ; 

Scorn, who of scorn are deserving, 
Praise, to whom praises are due ; 
Workers are nobler than idlers. 
Under the red, white and blue. 



[ 377 ] 



THE RAINLESS SUMMER 

This is the rainless summer, 

Deluged with heat and light. 

Everywhere is the shimmer 

Of sunshine, broad and bright ; 

But never the filmy vapors 

Wrung from the panting ground, 

Return to the flowers, in Summer showers. 

With the raindrops' cheerful sound. 

The willows bend by the river 

And their branches, long and green, 

In the warm dry breezes shiver. 

And dance in the golden sheen ; 

But the sands are hot about them. 

And but stagnant pools remain, 

Where the flood has poured and the torrent roared, 

To the song of the falling rain. 

The grapevines, green on their trellis. 

Are heavy with emerald drops, 

And a thousand twitterings tell us 

Of birds in the high treetops ; 

But where are the tender wildflowers. 

And the grasses, bent with dew, 

When the ripples strayed and the young lambs played, 

While all things were made new? 

O, this is the year's great noontide, 

That follows her dewy morn, 

When near to the dusty roadside 

Are the stalks with their golden corn ; 

And down in the shady orchard. 

Half hid in the living leaves, 

Bright goblets shine with brimming wine. 

O'er which no fond heart grieves. 

[378] 



O radiant, rainless Summer! 

The year's bright sunset is nigh ; 

When Autumn, the gay newcomer 

Shall paint, with her rainbow dye 

The fresh green leaves of the forest ; 

To fade in the gray twilight. 

When rain and frost, on the chill wind tossed, 

Shall herald the year's great night. 

And from the bell-towers tolling, 

At the midnight of the year, 

Shall the brazen tongues be calling 

To the old year's frosty bier ; 

'Till the birth of another cycle 

They publish from strand to strand. 

Where the streamlets creep and the swift floods sweep 

O'er the rainless Summer land. 



STONES AND JEWELS OF FAME 

Sometimes I think if I should write an ode. 

To be, by every idler said or sung, 

The jest and sport of every schoolboy's tongue, 

Common as stones down-trodden in the road. 

As poets oft have purchased deathless fame, 

I should not be so pleased with my success, 

As if some little gem of higher art 

My hand might pen, the nobler few to bless, 

The delving mind, the contemplative heart, 

Stones for the many, jewels for the less. 



[379] 



TO THE POSSESSOR OF AN UNBRIDLED 
TONGUE 

Out of the grass, 
Through flower-like clumps of gladsome words 
Springs a dread serpent whose unerring dart 
Is death to all the joyous, happy birds, 
Of many a human heart. 

The venomed sting 
From tongues whose hate might wrap a world 
In white, dread flames from demon souls uncurled, 
While all the birds, too terrorized to sing. 
Fold their bright wings. 

As from a serpent 
Would I hasten from the venomed tongue. 
Nor look again upon the one who flung 
Unjust anathemas, to make the chords 
Of Life's sweet music jar. 

Pour forth thy words ! 
As I avoid the serpent's flowery path. 
So shall I circle far. 
Aside from all thy unreasoning wrath. 



[380 



A DREAM PICTURE 

A lady who lived in a time gone by 
Had for many years a cloudy trial 
That cast its shadow athwart her sky 
Making the hours seem long by the dial; 

But once in her dreams she found herself 
In the golden light of a sunny day, 
When a thick cloud gathered above her path 
And shut out the sunlight from her way; 

Then suddenly it broke and she saw 
That a thousand tiny songbirds there, 
With brilliant plumage and spreading wings. 
Had formed the cloud in the sunny air; 

Then they burst into song above her head, 
In such thrilling notes as they took their flight. 
That the lady woke from her wondrous dream. 
Weeping for gladness and delight. 

Look up at the clouds, not down, to lament 
The shadow that darkens all earthly things. 
And soon you will find they are angels sent. 
With beautiful songs and protecting wings. 



[381] 



THOU SHALT FORGET THY MISERY 

Thou shalt forget thy misery, 
As waters that have passed away, 
The river murmurs as it speeds, 
The cool wave whispers and recedes, 
And tiny mountain brooks repeat 
In infant voices gurgling sweet : 
"Forget, sad heart, thy misery. 
What are the waters passed away?" 

Thou shalt forget thy misery, 

And is it not a mockery? 

Shall time flow on nor leave a trace 

Of aching heart or troubled face. 

Of weary hands, of stumbling feet, 

And Life's broad stream flow clear and sweet, 

Nor Mara's bitter waters blend 

With the bright current to its end? 

Answer, bright, babbling, boiling brook. 
In graceful curve, in rugged crook. 
As days and weeks and months go on, 
Forever coming, going, gone; 
Is it an idle mockery. 
The faith that cries out hopefully, 
Thou shalt forget thy misery. 
As waters that have passed away? 



[382] 



THE OPENING OF THE ROSES 

Oh see in all their varied, fair unfoldings, 
The rosebuds opening, opening to the light ! 
White waxen scrolls and tinted silken lusters. 
And crimson velvet folds in wreaths and clusters 
They seem all tangled in my heart's life-story, 
Its sadness and its sweetness and its glory; 
The red and white ones mingled in a cross. 
My life's strange heritage of life and loss. 
With all the sweetness born of patient trust, . 
Born to sunshine out of dark and dust ; 
I love them all— pink-tipped and amber-hued, 
But these my love with deepest aim have wooed. 



REDEMPTION SONG 

O the angels are singing because, because, 
Christ beareth my burden to-day ! 
From the tomb in my heart they are coming to roll 
The stone of my sorrow away, away, 
The angels will roll it away! 

O the angels are singing for joy, for joy. 
When Christ took my burden of clay. 
When He stooped to lift what was bearing me down, 
The stone of my sorrow, to-day, to-day. 
The angels will roll it away! 



[383 



THE LONGING OF THE SOUL 

(As the hart panteth after the waterbrooks, so 
panteth my Soul after Thee, O God! — Ps. 42:2.) 



Locked in this prison house of clay 
My Spirit pants to be away, 
And mourns its low estate ; 
Flutters and struggles to be free, 
Reaches and longs, O Lord, for Thee! 
Why must it wait? 

A thousand wrecks around me lie. 
These all have failed to satisfy ; 
Saviour, I pray 

To anchor on that blessed shore, 
Where sin and sorrow wound no more. 
Through endless day. 

In yonder heaven of delight 
Oh, to awake from life's dark night. 
And meet my King ! 
Behold the beauty of His face. 
The glory of His matchless grace 
Forever sing! 

They say this world a heaven would be 
If purged of woe and misery. 
Of sin and death ; 
Oh, vain such mockeries to pursue. 
From Thee, O God, the Spirit drew 
Its vital breath ! 



[384 



To Thee ascend its quenchless fires, 
To Thee it evermore aspires; 
Without Thy face 

Earth might take on the hues of Heaven, 
Yet would the Soul with longing riven 
Pant for its natal place. 

Peace, panting Soul, on holier sod 
Happy forever with thy God 
Thou shalt abide; 

Soon these frail prison bars shall break. 
The fluttering Spirit shall awake 
And shall be satisfied. 



HOPE'S CHORAL 

Glad is my heart this Autumn morn 
Though oft by cruel fortune torn ; 
Happy I am, though bitter tears 
Have mingled with the flood of years ; 
Let clouds of blackness veil my sky, 
Hope shall the gathering storm defy ; 
Let tempests howl and thunders roar. 
And surges beat life's billowy shore: 
Be mine, the eagle's dauntless flight, 
Above the storm's impending night. 
Where bathed in day's serenest glow, 
The clouds float tranquilly below; 
Be mine, the sky-lark's loftiest aim. 
From angry storm and raging main. 
To soar aloft on joyful wing, 
Rise far above the clouds and sing. 



[385 



THE HA\'EX OF REST 

Is there beyond this life's narrow horizon, 
Is tliere beyond this life's ocean distressed, 
Calm in the clime of some sheltering shore, 
Where the storms cease and the tempests are o'er. 
Sky, land and ocean at peace evermore, 
Is there, oh, is there a Haven of Rest? 

Not for the hands that are trembling and weary, 
Not for the feet that the thorn-paths have pressed ; 
But for the hearts that are sickened to view^ 
Wrongs that the tired hands can never undo. 
Sins, briers, that scatter tlie winding way through 
E'en to the haven, the Haven of Rest. 

Boast we of courage that never is vanquished, 
Hearts brave and strong the mad breakers to breast? 
Ah ! the chill wavelets will beat them aside, 
Stranded above the slow ebb of the tide. 
Need we a pilot, a lamp and a guide, 
Over the shoals to the Haven of Rest? 

Is there no haven, no haven beyond? 

None have come back from the sun-setting West. 
Oh, have we watched for some token in vain, 
Striving our gaze o'er the billows to strain, 
Only one unfailing promise to gain, 

Of that fair haven, the Haven of Rest? 



[3^] 



Is it a flower on the stormy deep driven, 
Crowning the brow of the darkest wave's crest? 
Nearer it floats 'till its frail form we hold 
Close to our hearts as its beauties unfold, 
'Tis God's own promise, a blossom of gold, 
Cast out adrift from the Haven of Rest. 

Strong for the toil that each fleeting year bringeth, 
Work, all we ask of life's meager behest, 

Cometh a time when the strongest arm fails, 
Cometh a time when the bravest heart quails, 
Longs to cast anchor, to drop the torn sails, 
Midst the green isles of the Haven of Rest. 

Haven of Happiness, bright port of promise! 
Harbor, where all who have entered are blest. 

Pilot across life's sea, 

Leaving the course to Thee, 

We shall safe anchored be 
Sometime at home in the Haven of Rest. 

There though glad feet shall go swift at bidding, 
Idleness never the tireless hands' guest 

Yet shall no heart complain 

Of weary work and pain, 

Of toil or tears in vain. 
Anchored at last in the Haven of Rest. 

Little we know what the dense fogs are hiding. 
Isles, flower-encircled and music caressed. 

Skies never veiled by night, 

Towers bathed in fadeless light, 

Forms clad in garments bright. 
Thronging the shores of the Haven of Rest. 



387 



DO THEY THINK OF ME AT HOME? 

When sunset tints the western skies 
With evening's roseate flush, 
When the woodlands lie in shadows 
In the twilight's deepening hush ; 
When the shadows lengthen round the 
Lowly cot and stately dome, 
When the toilsome day is over. 
Do they think of me at home? 

Do they think of me, when morning 
Calls from slumber to awake. 
When the lark is skimming gaily 
O'er the bosom of the lake, 
When the meadows lie serenely 
'Neath the blue ethereal skies ; 
And the saucy sprightly bluejay 
Wakes the forest with his cries? 

Do they think of me and miss me, 
In the noontide's glowing heat. 
When the cottage echoes gaily 
To the tread of little feet ; 
When the oriole and warbler 
Sing their merry roundelay ; 
Do they think of me and miss me 
In the busy, bustling day? 

Do they think of me in winter, 
When the falling of the rain 
Makes a pattering on the shingles. 
Trickles down the window-pane ; 
When the low night-winds are whispering. 
Like some far-ofif mournful lyre. 
When they gather in the evening, 
'Round a brightly glowing fire? 

[388] 



When the children's merry laughter 
Makes the cozy home-nest ring; 
Do they think of me, I wonder, 
When the evening songs they sing? 
What is sweeter than that music. 
When their childish voices raise 
In their songs of flowers and fancies. 
In their songs of prayer and praise. 

Oft I sit beside my window, 
When the day's long march is o'er, 
When the waves are slowly creeping 
O'er the distant ocean's shore; 
And I wonder as I sit there, 
In the twilight, all alone, 
Do they pause amid life's bustle 
To think of me at home? 



[389] 



FLOWERS AND WEEDS 

This fragile hothouse plant of mine 

In perfect bloom, 
This flower whose varied tints combine 
The costliest jewel to outshine, 
This native of some tropic clime. 
This princess of a royal line, 

Ah ! would she own 
That low, coarse weed by yonder fence, 
A cousin to her excellence? 

And yet the truth must needs proclaim, 

With Fate's stern pen ; 
The weed, a thing of blight and blame. 
Bears in its coarse low life the same 
Remote and honored family name, 
As this, my pet of floral fame ; 

With flowers and men 
The ties of nature sometimes bind 
To rudest natures left behind. 

The honored, virtuous life must blush 

Ofttimes in vain, 
For kindred lives whose baseness crush 
The buds of promise in their flush, 
And make their names a funeral hush. 
And pure affection's fountains gush, 

To bear a stain ; 
Condemn not truth for error's deeds. 
While flowers are flowers and weeds are weeds. 



[390 



AMBITION 

Virtue or vice, which shall we call thy name? 
Parent of wealth, of liberty, of fame ; 
Author of crime ; shall reason bless or blame ? 

Thine offspring are in number as the sands, 
In monument to thee, all triumph stands ; 
Yet, blood of innocence is on thy hands. 

Stagnation into frenzy, thou hast turned ; 
Kindled, in sluggish veins, thy fire hath burned 
To censure and to praise thee, man hath learned. 

Read where thy record fills the page of time, 
Inspirer of the cursed Cain, of crime ; 
Creator of the noble and sublime. 



LINES 

May the first song and yet the last I sing, 
Be of the sweet bird with the broken wing 
That struggles in the red-stained grass to rise, 
And pours its music into thankless skies ; 
Be of the rosebud bright and fair. 
Breathing sweet fragrance from the air; 
Be of the heart that torn and wounded lives 
Above the anguish that another gives, 
That lets no bitterness from all its wrong 
Taint its pure sweetness or make harsh its song. 



[391] 



COMING BACK 

They are coming back, all the dear lost things, 
They have flown away on their silent wings, 
Sometime, sometime, down the future's track, 
They are coming back, they are coming back ! 

All the beautiful things that we would have kept, 
Over which we have prayed, over which we have wept; 
All the dead, lost loves, that our tired hearts lack, 
Sometime, sometime they are coming back. 

All the broken friendships, the sundered ties, 
All the happy voices and bright, glad eyes; 
Though the night and the tempest be long and black. 
The dawn and the sunlight are coming back. 

Then pray, tired heart,^ but in praying, sing; 
God taketh not from thee one goodly thing; 
Thy jewels are lost on life's dusty track, 
God knows where they fell, he can give them back. 

All thy heart's high hopes, all thy brave desires. 
All thy soul's deep smothered but quenchless fires. 
All the failures that come when we best have planned. 
Sometime we shall waken and understand. 

Sometime, not far distant, oh heart so fond! 
Somewhere, just above us and just beyond. 
Somehow no brightness our lives shall lack. 
Old earth's lost jewels are coming back. 



[392] 



PITY HER NOT 

Pity her not who so sweetly can slumber, 
While life's delirium rages around. 
Sleep that no vision of care can encumber. 
Slumber unbroken by motion or sound. 

What will she miss in the life of a woman? 
Roses that bloom 'midst the cruelest briers ; 
Maybe a love, weak and selfish and human, 
Songs all discordant to heavenly choirs. 

Pleasures, perchance which she never yet tasted, 
Possibly fame, which she never can know; 
Beauty, like rose petals scattered, love wasted. 
Like their perfume in a desert of woe. 

You who have loved her, to you is the sadness 

Of that deep loneliness hard to forget; 

You who have wronged her, to you comes the madness, 

Unfelt by her, of remorse and regret. 

Pity her not — they have need of your pity. 

In life's delirium tossed to and fro^ 

In the calm earth or the beautiful city, 

Naught of their pain and unrest can she know. 



[393] 



THE HEAVENLY MESSENGER. 

The gates swung back on golden hinges turned 

Their pearl-hewn massive panels noiselessly, 

And o'er their jeweled portals swiftly sped 

An angel on a mission sent. 

One blast of music followed in her train, 

A fragment from the grand eternal swell of Heavenly harmony 

that rolled within; 
The gates had closed, the gateway beautiful 
Shone purer than the stars that hung beneath, 
And still the sweet notes, that like singing birds, had winged 

their flight 
Into the ether space, flew back in echoes from the farthest star. 
The angel paused a moment ere she took 
Her journey through the cloudy realms of air ; 
Her eye was fixed upon a distant speck, dim and uncertain in 

the moving shapes that circled through the glittering 

universe ; 
Her brow was draped in waves of shining hair, her clear eyes 

pierced the cloudy fields below the solid planets in their 

rhythmic round. 
And gazed undazzled through the glare of suns. 
And then with one swift flight her form was lost amid the whirl 

of worlds. 
The last bright flames of sunset had expired, 
The ashen twilight, that had veiled the hills 
Shining deep blue against the amber sky, had vanished and 

the dark o'ershadowing night spread like a spangled 

curtain over all. 
Spangled with twinkling, gleeful, loving, stars ; 
And far beneath them a great city slept. 
A city with its pomp and poverty, 
A city where the guilty and the good 
Met face to face amid the multitude, 
And meeting, passed, and passing, met no more; 



[394] 



Prisons loomed up like giant spectres there, and dens of Vice 

glared out with bloodshot eyes and gave forth sounds of 

mockery within ; 
And up toward the pure, imfading stars, the church-spire 

pointed with unchanging faith. 
And from their holy altars incense rose of prayer and song 

and hallowed all around, 
A city with its virtue and its vice. 
Through the dim lighted or the darkened streets, unheard, unseen, 

amid the jostling crowds, sped with white wings the 

Heavenly messenger; 
She passed the entrances of lighted halls, whence flowed soft 

tones of music, and the sound of circling dances and the 

laugh and jest. 
Winged with the fragrance of ten thousand flowers ; 
She passed the jaws of dens where 
Riots ruled and Crime unloosed made horrible the night with 

gory victims and unearthly groans, and Vice triumphant 

gloated o'er her spoils ; 
She passed the prisons where in lonely cells crouched hopeless 

wretches in their vague despair; 
She passed the churches with their lofty spires pointing toward 

the gateway beautiful ; 
And stayed not 'till within a little room whose one small window 
looked serenely down upon a busy, hurrying street below, 
she paused, at last her destination reached. 
Upon a table burned a lamp and near, lost in the volume that 

he held, 
A youth sat with a thoughtful, earnest brow, 
A moment by his side the angel stood, and then he raised his 

head and laying down the little volume on the table near, 

rose (seeing not the Heavenly messenger) and passing to 

the window stood and gazed long on the busy, hurrying 

scene below. 
His face was sorely troubled and perplexed. 



395 



The shadow of a great impending harm seemed to his sight to 

hang 
With fiery brands above the land, and the people that he loved. 
The ardor and the strength of youth were his, but the wild, 

reckless avenues of youth lured not his steps. 
He stood alone, apart, and saw afar the sure destructions lowering 

overhead. 
Saw the cursed country where a wrong prevails and right must 

perish with no hand to save. 
And standing thus, perplexed and horrified, the angel came and 

stood beside him there. 
Her presence seemed to chase the clouds away, — a moment and 

he stood again alone. 
But not as then in deep dejection plunged; 
His face though earnest still was peaceful now, 
The sunrise of a noble purpose shone above the mountain-tops 

that seemed so high; 
For when the angel messenger was gone, her message Hved 

engraven on his heart, 
He heard no step, no voice, no seraph saw. 
But when her hallowed presence passed without 
He raised his eyes toward the stars above 
And whispered to his calm, exultant heart : 
"Surely an angel was sent down from Heaven !" 



[396 



LIFE'S AIM. 

Not for love, or fame, or pleasure. 

Let me live; 
Not for any golden treasure, 

Life may give. 

Fame's a phantom, love but human, 

Gold a snare; 
Just to be a useful woman 

Is my prayer. 

Not from wealth, or fame, or beauty, 

Cometh bliss; 
Blooms alone by paths of duty, 

Happiness. 

Let me not grow sad and weary 

In the race; 
Ever keep a kind and cheery 

Heart and face. 

Worth, be thou the crown and zenith 

Of my aim. 
Weighed with thee, how little meaneth 

Beauty, wealth or fame. 



[397] 



AUTUMN LEA\'ES. 

("We all do fade as a leaf." — Isaiah 64:6.) 

Beautiful leaves of Autumn, 
With the sunset hues they vie; 
Gems for the glorious setting 
Of the pale and pensive sk}-. 
Bright as the flaming opals, 
That gleam in the amber West, 
Is the Autumn's rich creation 
Of gold and amethyst. 

Beautiful leaves of Autumn, 
How brief is their rich display; 
Like all other earthly glories 
They must perish and decay. 
And where through the lovely summer, 
They hung in their stations high; 
Trodden by careless footsteps, 
Their moldering forms shall lie. 

Beautiful leaves of Autumn, 
They are robed for an early bier ; 
Destined to fade and wither 
On the grave of the dying year. 
And a strange sweet theme of sadness, 
With their gorgeous splendor weaves 
For all, yes all that is earthly 
Doth fade like the Autumn leaves. 

Beautiful leaves of Autumn, 
Where the breezes of Spring rejoice; 
The Autumn winds are chanting, 
In a sadder, sweeter voice. 



[398 



And while in gorgeous splendor, 
The Summer glories wane; 
In plaintive tones they murmur 
Their soul-subduing strain. 

Beautiful leaves of Autumn, 
Glowing with hectic hues ; 
Dripping with pearly rain-drops. 
Or laden with honey-dews. 
Bright is your reign of beauty, 
But beauty is always brief ; 
And human pride and glory, 
Shall fade like an Autumn leaf. 

Beautiful woods of Autumn, 

I love your pensive shades ; 

Where each silent aisle of brightness, 

A solemn air pervades. 

'Till I pause midst the fading beauty, 

So gorgeous and so brief; 

And say with the ancient prophet : 

"We all do fade as a leaf." 



[399] 



REST. 

(Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden 
and I will give you rest. — Matt. 11:28.) 

O the toiling and the striving 

Of tliis busy age I 
O the anxious care of Hving, 

Mankind's heritage! 
Wean- mortals reaching after 

Things tliey cannot reach : 
Tears beneath tlieir lightest laughter, 

Heartaches under gayest speech. 
Brows where Care is ploughing furrows, 

Eyes where Time is writing sorrows. 
This is what you teach : 

That tlie planning and contri\-ing 

Of tlie wisest and the best 
For a better, easier living 

Has not brought tlie tired world rest. 
Listen! 'tis tlie Sa\-iour calleth. 

Like the dew His message falleth ; 
Dew tliat falls tired earth to gladden, 

From the east unto tlie west: 
"Come ye wean.-, hea^-J- laden, 

I vdW give you rest." 

And from mountain, plain and city, 

Wean.- souls whom angels pit)^; 
Bring to Him their hea\-A- losses, 

Bring to Him their cruel crosses. 
O. that all the world distressed. 

Tossed in hfe's delirium fever. 
Might but claim the free bequest. 

Peace that floweth like a river, 
Christ hath brought the tired world rest! • 



[400] 



Like a great ocean weary of unrest. 

My soul cried out to God in troubled waves ; 

Storms, rocks and billows, yawning, hungry cave: 
A midnight ocean in one human breast 

Cried unto God for rest. 

And in the darkest hour before the dawn. 

One stood beside me. One whom angels laud; 

Whos€ form was like unto the Son of God. 
I woke, the troubled sea of life rolled on. 

But all the burden of my soul was gone. 

O burdened spirits cease your fruitless quest. 
For Christ alone thy burden can remove. 

Till with the boundless ocean of His love, 
A simlit ocean in one human breast. 

Where flow the tides of His eternal rest! 



[401] 



MY FATHER KNOWS THE WAY. 

My Father knows the way, His love 

Compare with any human love; 
The best affection man may claim 
Is as a candle's flickering flame 

To the world-lighting sun above. 

My Father knows the way, I turn 
Toward the road Fve traveled o'er. 

my weak vision, dazzled, blind ! 
My Father knew the way behind, 

He knows the way before. 

My Father knows the way, His hand 

Holds tight the reins of chance and fate. 
No star reveals the road ahead, 
And yet His child should feel no dread 
Although the night is late. 

My Father knows the way. His eye 

Can pierce the gloom that blinds my sight; 

1 hear the rumbling wheels go on. 
Life's chariot o'er Time's road is drawn, 

I know that all is right. 

My Father knows the way, His ear 
Can catch the faintest sound before. 

He knows where lie the banks so steep, 

Of Trouble's river, dark and deep. 
He hears its nearing roar. 

My Father knows the way, His care 

Shall guard me through the blinding foam; 

Nor yet forsake me when I see 

Flash out on Life's dark mystery 
The beacon light of home. 

[ 402 ] 



A DREAM PICTURE. 

I dreamed of one who just had died, 

Sweet mercy painted o'er the past; 

And evermore I see her last 

Risen immortal, glorified. 

She stood — a cloud beneath her feet — 

Her countenance divinely sweet; 

Her robes w^ere draperies of white, 

Her hair an aureole of light. 

She sang, and oh ! I heard as here 

The same dear voice, more rich, more clear. 

Yet, as if seeing all the wrong, 

And sin, and sadness of mankind, 

Her calm eyes gazed across the world 

Of sorrow^s she had left behind ; 

And all that look, that voice, that song 

Full of sweet earnestness to save 

That lost world from its wrong. 

I see that picture hanging still 

On Memory's walls, a thing sublime ; 

I know it cannot fade until 

I close my eyes on scenes of time; 

And yet I wish some artist's hand 

Might paint her life-sized portrait, just 

As in that dream she came to me 

Risen immortal from the dust. 

That all the world might look and see. 

The careless world of jests and songs. 

How angels gaze upon their wrongs ; 

How heaven bends over earth to save. 

And love uprisen from the grave 

Can sing for earth no song beside 

A saviour— Christ for man has died. 

And risen, immortal, glorified. 



[403 



O, CAN I BE HAPPY IN HEAVEN? 

O, can I be happy in heaven, 

Though free from earth's trouble and care; 

Though glories undreamed of be given, 

If one whom I love is not there? 

Could I walk the bright streets in my gladness, 

Secure from all darkness and doubt; 

And feel not a shadow of sadness 

For one lost in midnight without? 

O, could I be happy in Heaven? 
Could the joys of that beautiful place, 
Soothe to calmness my soul, anguish-riven 
O'er the memory of one absent face? 
And to know that forever and ever, 
My pleadings and prayers are too late; 
That to find them and save them I never 
May pass through the beautiful gate! 

O, should I be happy in Heaven, 
If one whom I love is not there? 
Would not the bright heritage given 
Be a burden too dreadful to bear? 
The crown and the harp, and the mansion 
In that sunlight that never shall set; 
Will the soul in its glorious expansion, 
Thrilled with rapture, its sorrow forget? 

O, would I be happy in Heaven 

I ask? Could that other world's bliss 

Make up to the soul that has striven 

For the hopes that are blighted in this? 

Could we walk by the beautiful river. 

Could we tread the bright pavements of gold; 

Forgetting, forgetting forever 

The friends and affections of old? 

[404] 



O, shall we be happy in Heaven, 

When the tears are all wiped from our eyes? 

Will our hearts never ache — anguish-riven — 

For a soul that eternally dies? 

If one thing could soothe the sad spirit, 

'Twere His love, who before us hath trod; 

Could we think of one loved one and bear it, 

Shut out from the presence of God? 

O, this is so little of living, 

And that is so endlessly more; 

Shall the strongest of ties Time is weaving 

Be rent at the portal before? 

To one, endless happiness given. 

To one, an eternal despair; 

O, can we be happy in Heaven, 

If one whom we love is not there? 

O Thou, who in agony's garden. 
Wept teardrops of sorrow and blood; 
Who paid on the cross for our pardon, 
Redeemed us from sin unto God, 
May one priceless answer be given 
The longing that burdens my prayer; 
That when I am with Thee in Heaven, 
All, all whom I love may be there ! 



[405] 



OUR LILIES. 

Beautiful lily, so pure and pale, 
Lightly poised on thy slender stem, 
Soon, soon, shall wither thy petals frail— 
But another lily must fade with them. 

Another lily as pure and pale, 
Beautiful, but so still and cold; 
Broken its life-stem in the gale. 
Before its petals could quite unfold. 

Did we guess when thy tiny bud appeared 
On a dewy morn, forever past. 
Where with our broken bud endeared, 
Thy beautiful form should fade at last ? 

We have chosen thee for the little hands 
That shall gather earth's blossoms nevermore: 
But we know she sings with the angel bands. 
Midst the fadeless fields of the other shore. 



God walked in His garden and saw it there. 
The dear human bud that His love had given ; 
He knew earth's desert was bleak and bare. 
And took it to bloom midst the flowers of Heaven. 

Where the storms of time can never scar 
Its fragile form with their cruelty; 
Where the dust of earth can never mar 
The pearl of its perfect purity. 

Beautiful lily so unalloyed. 

Thy sisters shall blossom nor sigh for thee; 

But oh the measureless empty void 

In hearts and homes that must ever be. 



[406] 



Blossoms as lovely and sweet as thou 
Shalt wither forgotten among the rest ; 
But thou shalt live in our memory now, 
Clasped to that still, white-mantled breast. 

Oh, dost thou fear in the tomb to fade. 

Or shrink from the tear-bedewed couch so low: 

Thou the last earthly blossom laid. 

In the hands of One who has loved them so! 

No, like a blessed symbol sent. 
Thy incense rises to waft away; 
Like a beautiful spirit just unpent, 
Lingering gently but cannot stay. 

Cover them o'er with the valley clods, 
Safe from the blight of earth's frosty gale; 
This was our lily, but that was God's, 
Beautiful lilies so pure and pale. 



[407] 



THE LOVE OF GOD. 

What though an angel dipped his pen 
In Hving pools of flame and flood, 
Yet would he fail to teach to men 
The love of God. 

What though in utterance sublime, 
'Twere written on the orbs above. 
This thought above the world would shine 
That God is love. 

Source of earth's purest, holiest bliss, 
Sun of that brighter world above ; 
Yet can we teach no more than this. 
That God is love. 

Oh Love divine! Thyself descend. 
As with the pinions of a dove; 
And teach the world to comprehend 
Thy wondrous love. 



408] 



LITTLE THINGS. 

He has learned much, who folds his tired wings 
From wandering o'er the earth in useless quest ; 
To find in the delight of little things 
Fresh entertainment and contented rest. 

To see defects may take no keener sight, 
To point out thorns and flaws at every turn, 
Than to discover beauties exquisite. 
And hidden worth and sweetness to discern. 

Let not one simple pleasure be despised. 

Be each a jewel in Life's circlet placed; 

Not one delight of friendship pass unprized, 

Nor song, nor beauty, nor sweet fragrance waste. 

He has gained much, whose heart has said adieu 
To cynic thoughts and skeptic questionings, 
Amid the peace of Nature's life to woo, 
An innocent delight in little things. 



[409 



NOT AS A KING. 

Not as a king unto us He came, 
Not with the pomp of a titled name; 
No haughty herald He sent before, 
No royal robe to the world He wore. 

Not with the sound of the conqueror's drum, 
Not with an armed host did He come, 
From the lowly hamlet of Bethlehem, 
To the holy city, Jerusalem. 

They looked for His coming in power and might, 

Appareled in majesty, grandeur, light; 

No earthly glory to them He brought. 

He came to His own and they knew Him not. 

Not as a king's, O Thou Holy One 
Was thy throne established, thy reign begun; 
In the Bethlehem manger He wept and smiled. 
When He came unto us as a little child. 

O man, in your kingly glor}- strong! 

O queenly proud of the festal throng! 

In the sheen of your royal grandeur dressed. 

Tired with the toys of a world's unrest. 



[410] 



Not as a king, oh ! not as a king, 

To His glorious presence He bids you bring, 

Costliest incense and gold to buy, 

Favor and peace at His throne on high. 

Hearken, who comest with kingly tread! 
Listen, who bowest the crowned head? 
On him alone hath the Saviour smiled, 
Who came unto Him as a little child. 



ALL IS WELL! 

"All is well!" The watchman's cry 
Breaks the midnight's slumbrous spell, 
And the answering words reply : 
"Twelve o'clock and all is well !" 
Undisturbed the City sleeps, 
Unalarmed by clanging bell; 
Every gust of wind that sweeps 
Echoes sweetly, "All is well." 

All is well, no dread alarm 
Breaks upon the midnight quiet. 
Warning of impending harm, 
Fire or theft or drunken riot; 
Oft the midnight hour has heard 
Cries for help and danger's knell, 
But to-night the passing word. 
Says at midnight, "All is well." 



411 



THE WATERS OF MARAH. 

We may laugh and sing, we may dance and jest, 

As if life were only gladness ; 
But where every heart's deep fountain starts, 

There's a little pool of sadness. 

Where the waters of Marah stagnant lie, 

Or rise to its brim o'erflowing; 
Where the spirit sighs while its music dies, 

When no one else is knowing. 

O life should be like a sweet, glad tune. 
From the year's dull keys ascending; 

Like the wild-bird's song in the heart of June, 
But broadening and never ending! 

Yet each must know where the sobbing notes 

Drown often the tones of pleasure; 
Like a laughing brook o'er its cold sharp stones. 

Is the song in its changing measure. 

In the whirling dance in the festal hall. 

Where human hearts seem lightest; 
In the golden glare of pride and wealth, 

Where life seems best and brightest. 

There is many a frozen marble smile, 

On the sculptured lips of pleasure ; 
And many who try to drown a while. 

The toil of life's dull measure. 



[412] 



THE WANDERER. 

I came into this beautiful world 

Like a leaf tossed on the sea; 
A leaf from the tree of life down-hurled, 

O there was no place for me 
In the dizzy surges that tossed and whirled 
In the great, wide, cruel, beautiful world! 

On the beautiful, deep unrest 

Alone, oh, so all alone ! 
Sometimes up, up, to the wave's white crest, 

By some wandering wind-sprite blown ; 
Sometimes rocked low in the cradle rest 
Of some mighty billow's heaving breast. 

Roll, mighty years that are hurrying 

To its goal the exiled leaf! 
Roll mighty billow and weep and sing, 

Your gladness and your grief; 
Each unto each its own shall bring, 
Every flying year is an angel's wing. 



[413] 



THE ANSWERED PRAYER. 

Had I not trusted in Thee, 

O Saviour of mankind, 
The darkness would engulf me now 

That lies so far behind. 
Lost in the dizzy whirlpool 

Of doubting and despair, 
There seemed no friend to pity, 

None who could save was there. 
I waited, prayed and trusted. 

And God hath heard my prayer. 

Had I not trusted in Thee, 

When in mad waters whirled, 
I dare not contemplate the wreck 

On rock and chasm hurled. 
Because I trusted in Thee, 

With sails all torn and riven, 
With shattered mast and pennon. 

And all on sharp rocks driven, 
Behold the morning dawneth. 

And Thou hast heard from Heaven! 

Had I not waited, praying 

That long, long night of gloom, 
I never should have crossed the bar. 

Or reached my haven home. 
But when earth sends no helper, 

God's watch-care shall avail; 
He held those crashing timbers. 

He hushed that angry gale. 
He lighted on those bowlders 

Lamps that shall never fail. 



[414] 



My heart goes out to rescue, 

From ruin and despair, 
The weak and feeble-hearted ones, 

Who perish without prayer. 
No hope in hardened hearts. 

Upon sin-stained Hps no word 
Repentant, or beheving 

The mercy of the Lord ; 
While my prayers change to praises 

To God, for He hath heard. 

Then pray though wordless, voiceless, 

Thy soul's desire arise; 
Though drowned in human sorrows, 

He hears the raven's cries. 
Remembering our weakness, 

Our fallen low estate; 
His loving kindness is so strong. 

His tenderness so great. 
He guides us when we trust Him, 

He saves us while we wait. 



HOPE IN GOD 

Why art thou cast down my Soul, 
Why disquieted within me? 
Though the billows o'er thee roll, 
Trouble's waters shall not win thee. 
Though the fiery flames consign 
Thy frail earthly house to ashes, 
Lo, a quenchless flame is thine. 
O'er the night of death it flashes ; 
Hope in God, thou shalt not die. 
Spirit of the Eternal Spirit ; 
He it is who hears thy cry. 
Whom alone thy praise doth merit. 

[415] 



THE INVALID TO THE CAGED BIRD. 

What are you singing my beautiful bird? 
What are the words of your song? 
How can you carol when always denied 
The freedom for which you must long? 

Once, where the wild roses blushing at morn 
Grew pale at the sunset's first glow ; 
Hidden from sight by a cool, leafy screen. 
Your little nest swung to and fro. 

There your bright eyes first awoke to the light. 
And your restless wings scarcely could wait ; 
So eager to try in the great outside world, 
Their portion of fortune or fate. 

But long ere your delicate velvety wings 

Were penciled with faint lines of blue; 

With the first eager taste of sweet freedom's delight, 

A prison stood ready for you. 

Have you forgotten the shadowy trees, 
With the lily-bells nodding below? 
Have you forgotten the rocky hill-side, 
Where the wood-pinks and buttercups grow? 

There I too, wandered, unfettered and free, 
Ere my prison doors hid them from sight ; 
I too, am longing to see them again 
Aglow in the sun's golden light. 

For I am a prisoner, too, beautiful bird, 
Shut in from the beauties I love ; 
Shut in from the blossoms and verdure beneath. 
And the blue of the cloud-lands above. 



[416 



O teach me, sweet singer, your pure, artless song, 
That I may your happiness share; 
And forget in the joy of a rapture like them, 
The phantoms of hope and despair ! 



THE SONG OF PEACE. 

The war-song and the battle-hymn 

Their stirring notes have stilled ; 
That oft in valley, ghastly grim. 

Brave soldier-hearts have thrilled. 
Then wake a new and nobler strain, 

And may it never cease; 
A better song, a sweeter song, 

The glorious song of Peace. 

Within our country's broadest bound 

Is seen no martialed host; 
No wrathful cannon's roars resound 

To quake from coast to coast. 
No wounded soldier waits his end, 

No captive his release ; 
No anxious, troubled guards defend 

The blessed throne of Peace. 

But Youth goes forth to fight and win, 

Where no red sabers shine; 
And Age rejoices that war's din 

Jars not on Ufe's decline. 
And Love, whose heart-strings were her chains. 

Smiles in war's long surcease; 
Whose tears were blood, a princess reigns, 

In all the realm of Peace. 



[417] 



In war — a country's hopes stagnate, 

In war — her strong are slain. 
In war — dark evils desecrate 

Her council hall and fane. 
In war — ^^^th wings of omen dark 

Her wrongs and debts increase, 
Prosperity and progress mark 

The golden realm of Peace. 

Then swell the chorus loud and long 

'Till it reverberates, 
Thanksgiving hymn and natal song, 

Of our United States. 
And be our nation's greatest boast, 

O'er wrong and hate's decrease ; 
To louder swell from coast to coast, 

The triumph song of Peace. 



LINES 

The 3'ears bring changes as they come 

To every heart, to every home, 

Though silently the}' seem to pass, 

As Summer breezes through the grass, 

Old haunts in time grow new and strange, 

And old familiar faces change ; 

There is no earthly Eden fair 

But time and change are busy there ; 

Yet is the despot, Time, defied, 

By Heaven's best gifts to few^ denied ; 

Time cannot faithful friends estrange, 

Nor bid sincere affection change. 



[418] 



A WISH. 

I only ask a happy heart, 

And broader scope for true ambition; 

I would not want a nobler part, 

Or loftier position. 

I would not dream in marble halls, 
Or waste my years in idle splendor; 
Not while a true Ambition calls, 
And angel guides attend her. 

What is a crown, and what a throne, 
And what great wealth in golden coffers? 
Wisdom and happiness alone 
Life's highest promise offers. 

A crown may press a maddened brain. 
Despair lurk in a golden chalice ; 
Gay pleasures hide a life of pain, 
A broken heart dwell in a palace. 

I only ask for strength to toil 
At some true work, a heart to love it; 
And that no cankering worm may spoil 
My life fruit, when unworthy of it. 

A happy, useful life will show 
Itself reward for best endeavor; 
This be my choice, and then I know 
It shall go on forever. 



419 



THE DAY OF JUSTICE. 

Not these gray mountains, falling old and grim, 
Their rocks and boulders piling stone on stone, 
Will hide the wicked from the face of Him 
Who sitteth on the throne. 

Long was that face by clouds and mists obscure, 
And men have been by sin and shame enticed; 
Remembering not that each shall stand before 
The judgment-seat of Christ. 

There shall the laurels fall from many a brow. 
Then many deeds of valor none applaud; 
Justice and judgment, aye, forever, now 
Belongeth unto God. 

Then shall a clean and stainless life shine forth. 
For God looks not on sin with tolerance; 
There shall one lovely deed of love be worth 
More than long arguments. 

These petty courts that through long centuries 
Justice and judgments have dispensed to men, 
These justice halls and penitentiaries 
Will not be needed then. 

For, cast aside shall be these laws that play 
With crimes, as cats with mice, to tantalize 
One victim, while another hid away 
Mocks at stern Justice's eyes. 

When sits the Judge of all the universe, 
Up on His righteous throne — none shall distort 
His laws — on sin shall fall sin's curse 
In that high court. 



[420] 



And to extort exorbitant demands 
From human anguish, none shall plead God's laws; 
And none with lifting of unholy hands 
Defend an unworthy cause. 

Fear not, O Faith! 'tis here thy sight is dim; 
He who could guide through this long, tortuous way, 
Will keep the trust committed unto Him 
Against that day. 

The wrong shall not forever do and dare, 
God's mercy is long suffering, Christ hath died ; 
But not in vain in laboring and prayer 
Has earth for justice cried. 

Angels may pity, none of vengeance dream, 
When fails the feeble arm of human might. 
And the great Judge o'er countless worlds supreme 
Makes all things right. 



FRAGMENT 

Better a purpose, pure and true and strong 
Than all the gold that this wide world can give; 
Better a home within the gate of Heaven 
Than here in marble palaces to live. 



[421] 



AN INVOCATION 

O Happiness ! where have your airy wings flown, 

Art thou in the meadows, the groves, or the hills? 

Oh, leave not the tired heart in sadness alone ! 

Come back, and the charms of thy promise fulfill ! 

Where, where hast thou gone, must we seek thee in vain. 

In the city's gay whirl or in nature's wild glen? 

And cry in despair : "What is loving but pain ! 

What is friendship but grief to the children of men !" 

Oh ! is there no prospect but parting and death? 

Ah ! parting ofttimes wears a bitter sting. 

When death has no part in the faltering breath. 

When souls have no solace, hearts nowhere to cling. 

Farewell, saddest message on tongue or on pen, 

But sadder when breathed in the silence alone. 

Oh, come, sweet inspirer ! where, where hast thou been, 

While eyes have grown tearless and hearts turned to stone? 

Come! come with the smiles and the gladness of Spring, 
Breathe ! breathe o'er the spirit the balm of thy breath ; 
Make the arches above with thy welkin song ring. 
And the ashen rose blush on the pale cheek of death. 
Peace ! peace ! bid the troubled waves catch the refrain ; 
Let peace like the moonbeams dissolve the night's gloom. 
But when shall lost Happiness blossom again? 
Oh, when shall the rose gain its wasted perfume? 

O'er mountain and vale we have sought thee afar, 
Stray sprite of the sunshine, frail being of air. 
We followed thee, long as a glittering star. 
We reached to secure thee and no star was there: 



[422] 



We saw thee reflected in lakes of delight; 
We launched and pursued thee in vain, far and wide; 
We grasped thee a moment and checked thy swift flight ; 
But with us thou wast not content to abide. 

Stay! stay! we entreated, but e'en as we plead, 
Thou wert slipping away with the dew-pearls of morn ; 
We cried : "Do not leave us," and lo, thou hast fled ! 
Was it but to despair, that the spirit was born? 
Was it only a dirge that was meant for the song? 
Is Happiness only a phantom of air? 
Ah! these are the questions perplexing so long 
That rise like a surge ere the heart is aware. 

But hush ! there's a sound on the mist's sable wing, 
'Tis the voice of true Happiness speaking so low 
That only the soul hears the song she would sing, 
And only the heart her sweet message can know. 
"Come back, vain pursuer of pleasure and peace. 
Beware of the hollow allurements of sin. 
They blind and deceive you, your woes to increase. 
My source is above and my throne is within. 

"Above where the angels pluck roses of bliss 
And incense is burned on an altar divine. 
Within where the heart sinks in sorrow's abyss, 
'Till I kindle my fires on its innermost shrine ; 
Not all the rich dowry wealth can bestow. 
Not all the devotion true friendship can boast. 
Not all the gay blossoms ye gather below. 
Can bring more than transient enjoyment at most. 

"Cease ! cease to go groping for toys that will please. 
The flame that is quenchless descends from above. 
Earth's cold, cruel ways would the warmest heart freeze, 



[423] 



That burns on its altar no incense of love. 

I come, lo I come, with the message of peace. 

With sunlight and gladness, with music and smiles 

I come to bid woe and despondency cease, 

I come to strew beauty o'er earth's barren isles ! 

Even death shall be glad with the promise of life, 
And peace her millenium reign shall begin ; 
Sad farewells and partings with hope shall be rife, 
When the lamp of true Happiness burneth within. 
Come home, sad repiner, by life's tempest tossed ; 
Oh ! not to despair was the spirit designed." 
At the door of the heart knocks the angel we lost, 
And with roses of bliss is her scepter entwined. 



THE OTHER SIDE 

"They are beautiful," said mamma, pointing to the starry 

skies ; 
"Heaven is way up there," said Charley, lifting two great 

solemn eyes. 
"Yes," said mamma, speaking softly, "but we cannot see it 

now;" 
"We can see the bottom of it," Charley said with thoughtful 

brow. 
What a thought of childlike wisdom 
Baby Charley's words expressed, 

Now we only see the bottom, sometime we shall see the rest ; 
If the earthly glimpses given be so beautiful, when wide 
Swing the golden gates of Heaven, what will be the other 

side? 



424 



LINES WRITTEN OX RECEIVING VIOLETS 
IN A LETTER 

Dear little violets, crushed in a letter. 
Words may be true, but thy eloquence better 
Speaks of a friendship unchanged and sincere ; 
Many a flower is more handsome and stately. 
Many a blossom more waxen and saintly. 
But are there any more modest or dear? 

Blue speaks of truth in a thousand forms molded. 
Tinting the sky-scrolls above us unfolded. 
Blossoming with the sweet violets of Spring, 
Looking from soul-windows deep with emotion. 
Written in all the blue waves of the ocean. 
Touching with beauty the bird's azure wing. 

Oft we may question true friendship's existence. 
Oft be deceived by mere scheming and pretense ; 
But these winged bearers a message have brought 
Telling, not what friendship is or has once been, 
But what it might be if with an inspired pen 
Truth could be written on each secret thought. 

Friendship is true, though misused and pen.-erted, 

Though oft with evil intentions asserted ; 

What is not true is not worthy the name. 

Friendship is not for a day, but unending, 

Ever expanding and ever ascending ; 

Though man no more should its sacredness claim. 

I will not cast you away, little token. 
Friendship's worth cannot be written or spoken. 
But it looks out from your sweet eyes of blue; 
Crushed are the petals so fresh when first gathered: 
Yet ye shall lie with mementoes long treasured. 
Breathing so sweetly that friendship is true. 

[425] 



WITHOUT 
(.Rev. 22:15.) 

^^'hen the King hath returned to His City of Light, 

And gathered His glorified in 
From the shadow of death, from the darkness of night, 

From the blight and contagion of sin ; 
God's glory shall light up the shining pearl gates, 

Girt with precious jewels about. 
But what in the dread outer-darkness awaits 

For the lost wicked nations without? 

Oh. rayless shall be the dark maze where they grope, 

A\'ho learn at a terrible cost, 
No beacon of morn, and no day-star of hope 

Shall cheer the lone land of the lost ! 
Glad anthems shall rise from the myriads within, 

■'Till the echoes with rapture shall shout ; 
But sorrow unending shall swiftly begin 

To the dwellers of darkness without. 

They were bought with a price, by the King on His throne, 

They were purchased from bondage and sin. 
Redeemed to be prophets and priests of His own 

And shine in His temple within ; 
But they trailed their white robes in the low dust of time, 

They groveled in error and doubt , 
They stained their pure hands in the black pools of crime, 

They are dwellers in darkness without. 



[426] 



Through the cities of earth, they have passed in their pride, 

They have scattered their harvest abroad ; 
But they find only those of the Lamb's spotless bride 

Can enter the city of God. 
The pure and the upright, alone shall go in 

To that realm, girt with glory about ; 
The kingdoms of crime and the nations of sin 

Are lost in the darkness without. 

O City of Cities ! thy bright natal star 

Shines o'er, where thy strong walls are built. 
Through thy gates shall not enter, thy brightness to mar, 

One shadow of darkness or guilt. 
The kings of the earth bring their honor to thee, 

Their glory is lost in thine own ; 
Forever and ever thy Kingdom shall be 

Immortal as He on thy throne. 



[427] 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE 

'Tis glorious to live and know- 
That my Redeemer lives, 

And that where'er my footsteps go 
A lamp of light He gives. 

'Tis happiness to live and know 

That life shall never wane ; 
For though man dieth here below, 

Yet shall he live again. 

To live and know that not for time 
Each thought and deed shall be ; 

But for (oh, calling grand sublime !) 
For all eternity. 

'Tis wonderful to live and find, 

In all below, above, 
The stamp of the Infinite mind. 

The story of God's love. 

To live with guardian angels near 

And peace an hourly guest. 
To face the darkness without fear 

Amid the storm to rest. 

To feel the strivings of a soul 

That nevermore can die, 
Longings whose wide, unbounded goal 

Is immortality. 

'Tis beautiful to die and feel 

This earthly house decay. 
Then rise and seek with new-fledged zeal 

That mansion far away. 

[ 428 ] 



To bid the stream of death roll on 
Though rolling very near; 

To say, "The chilling tide is gone 
There is no river here." 

'Tis glorious to live and know- 
That my Redeemer lives, 

And that where'er my footsteps go 
A lamp of light He gives. 

'Tis happiness to live and know 
That life shall never wane; 

'Tis Christ for me to live, but oh, 
To die is endless gain ! 



A FAREWELL 

Goodbye, perhaps forever here, 

With God 'tis but a little while. 

To sleep and wake and find you near, 

To hear your voice and see your smile, 

The few brief years that intervene 

Will only be a cloud between, 

When to our clearer sight, 

As unto God this Life appears, 

A thousand of her little years. 

As a watch in the night; 

Goodbye, 'till endless day is born. 

Goodnight, until the morn. 



[429 



A VOICE FROM THE RIVER 

I have come from the mountain's rugged path, 
Where my wear}' feet have trod; 

I have come from the mountain's cloudless height, 
Where I walked alone with God. 

I have come to the dark, dark valley now, 
Where the river rolleth near; 

I have felt its dew, damp on my brow- 
But there is no river here. 

I said : **Roll on, dark river, roll on," 

When I felt it drawing near, 
"Roll on, roll on, dark river, roll on, 

With Jesus, I cannot fear."' 
But the valley's gloomy night is gone 

And there is no river here. 

For One, there is in the valley dark, 

Who bade the waters divide; 
And I'm safely, gladly passing now, 

Dry shod, to the other side. 
I have no chilling flood to brave. 

No perilous bark to steer ; 
There's a lamp of light in the valley dark. 

And there is no river here. 

I said : "Roll on, dark river, roll on," 

When I felt it drawing near, 
"Roll on, roll on, dark river, roll on. 

With Jesus, I cannot fear." 
But the valley's gloomy night is gone 

And there is no river here. 



[430] 



I have almost gained the other shore 

And my spirit soon will sing, 
Its darkness past, its storms all o'er, 

In the palace of the King; 
Where the loved and lost will welcome me. 

Who entered the valley drear, 
Long years ago, with the Christian guide. 

And found no river here. 

Roll on again dark river of death. 

For the angel choir I hear. 
Ah, many will cross with faltering breath, 

In terror and darkness and fear ; 
But the Christian's strong Guide whispereth 

"There is no river here." 



[431] 



THOUGHTS 

Words cannot change my worth 

Within God's sight; 
I stand the same whatever you have said ; 
Those cruel words will fall back on your head, 

To ban and blight, 
Because there are white angels overhead 

To guard the right. 

Because there are white angels 'round about 

The truth of things 
In their still tents where lurks no darksome doubt 

Or lie with wings ; 
And love walks clothed in radiance in and out, 

And softly sings ; 
Can mere opinions change gold into brass 

Or make a diamond paste? 
Then let the unjust judgment pass 

Like worthless waste. 



[432 



LOXGIXG 

Beat, beat, oh Soul, thy panting wing 

Against these earthly bars. 
Thou, destined yet to soar and sing, 

Beyond the stars ! 

Though this strange rapture be the pain 

Of prisoned wings. 
Yet shalt thou break thy bondage chain 

Ye fettered things. 

Free, free, oh Soul, not all for naught 

Thy fruitless strife, 
If one sweet note thine ear hath caught 

From higher life ! 

Fold patient pinions, longing Soul, and wait 

Thy destiny. 
AMien wide shall swing the iron gate 

And thou art free. 



[433] 



LIFE'S FRUITION 

What would life be if these few years 
Of thankless toil and bitter tears 

Were all and naught beyond? 
An utter failure void of hope, 
A sunless maze of narrow scope 
Where phantoms of despair would grope 

Throughout its narrow bound. 

If like a sear and withered leaf, 
Unmindful grown of joy or grief, 

We fell asleep, 
Forevermore in dust to lie. 
While centuries passed us heedless by, 
Our endless heritage to die, 

Our doom a moldering heap. 

Why were hearts given to strive and long 
And suffer by the hand of wrong; 

Is this their destiny? 
Why were minds given to grope for light. 
And wing through time and space their flight, 
But to go out in starless night, 

From life's dread mystery? 

Alas for Love, if o'er her tomb 

The flowers of Hope forbid to bloom, 

Went quaking to the dust ! 
Alas for Love, if her bright smile 
Could claim but this world's little while; 
Could Earth her children reconcile 

To shattered shrines of trust ! 



[434 



Alas for Thought, if fleeting time 
Could crumble her immortal shrine 

And quench her brightest flame ! 
Alas for Thought, if o'er her skies 
No star of hope could ever rise ! 
Alas for Thought, when promise dies, 

To never bloom again ! 

O Faith, thou brightest sun of earth, 
What heart can sing thy matchless worth 

To helpless mortals given ! 
Saviour, thy love's bright presence shed 
Gilds the dark vaults where sleep the dead, 
And lights the gloomy vale we tread. 

As with the hues of Heaven. 



[435] 



THE GRANITE BOULDER OF THE BEACH. 

Who could be sterner, colder, 
Who could be grander, older, 
Than I, the granite boulder, 

Monarch of beach and shore ; 
Colder than human coldness. 
Older than human oldness. 
Bolder than human boldness. 

Who was my peer before? 

Born in an age chaotic. 
Born to a throne despotic, 
Breaker and rare exotic 

Tremble beneath my frown ; 
Resting from Nature's revel 
Back in an age primeval 
Who shall my grandeur level? 

Older than king or crown. 

Brief are the generations, 
Boastful and weak the nations 
Time's mighty revelations 

'Graved on my armor cold, 
Science with eyes far seeing, 
Error ofttimes decreeing 
Draws from my birth and being 

Fancies and facts untold. 

Waves in their aimless revel. 
Tossed up the glistening gravel 
'Till a beach firm and level 

Lies at my broad, gray base ; 
Here happy children playing, 
Here happy lovers straying. 
To me their homage paying 

Gaze upward to my face. 

[436] 



O'er my broad brow are bending 
Branches, their blooms suspending 
Fair, fragile beauty blending 

With grandest symmetry, 
While a blue breaker tosses 
To me her tangled mosses 
Fashioned in wreaths and crosses 

Flowers of the land and sea. 



Steady the sculptor's chisel 
Surer than deadly missile 
Moves while his careless whistle 

Mockingly floats o'er all, 
Dark earth, oh, be my pillow ! 
Hide me, oh drooping willow! 
Chant dirges faithful billow, 

Great is my fall ! 

Held like a captive quaking. 
No strife for freedom making, 
Never a fetter breaking. 

Broken, defaced and scarred, 
Man, who to earth hath brought me, 
Man, who my ruin wrought me, 
Man, who with shame hath fraught me, 

Man, who my beauty marred, 

Brief are thy generations. 
Boastful and weak thy nations, 
Transient thy best creations. 

Thy longest life a span ; 
Owning in all thy science 
Mine as a race of giants. 
Barest thou our defiance 



[437] 



Weak, dying, timorous man? 
Slain by the storm's caressing, 
Choked by the breaker's blessing ; 
Nature's great laws transgressing, 

Changing and weak and small. 
Man of decay partaker. 
Only to Nature's Maker; 
Ruler of storm and breaker, 

I shall arise to fall. 



Alas! a broken column 
Reared in a city solemn, 
Thus hath my glory fallen. 

All things are new and strange. 
Far from the wild waves' rollic. 

Far from the billows' frolic; 
At last to rise symbolic 

Of death, decay and change. 



[438] 



SONG 

YOU WILL FORGET BUT REMEMBER AGAIN 

When I grow weary and bid you good-night, 
When I'm asleep on my couch cold and white; 
Pillowed with blossoms so pure and so pale, 
Hidden from sight by the mystical veil, 
You will remember me just for a while, 
When the clouds hang over Life's changing dial; 
But when the sunlight breaks out from the sky. 
You will forget me where lonely I lie. 
You will forget me and if a chance thought, 
Dim with the mists the long cycles have wrought, 
Fresh on your mind my lost image renews. 
Quickly will perish its few faded hues. 

But when you turn from the world's fleeting joys 
When you grow tired of its glamour and noise; 
Folding your hands for your last silent sleep. 
Closing your eyes for that slumber so deep. 
Dead recollections around you will throng. 
They who have slumbered forgotten so long; 
All the fleet years while they silent have lain, 
You will remember, remember again. 
Where'er my spirit shall journey I'll know, 
Down in the world with its sunshine and snow; 
Down in the world with its pleasure and pain. 
You will forget, but remember again. 



[439] 



THE REIGN OF THE ROSES. 

Room for the roses, make room for the roses, 
Coming by hundreds, a conquering race; 
Not with their milhons of tiny thorn lances 
Raised to confront us, the brave host advance, 
But with their beauty they conquer all foes. 
Beautiful conquerors, dew-wet and tender, 
City and town are bewitched by your splendor; 
Every heart opens, all gateways unclose. 
Room for the reign of the conqueror rose. 

Room for the roses, the conquering roses. 

Red as the blood that in battles is shed; 

White, as the snows that brave armies have trodden; 

Gold, as the sunshine that glitters o'erhead; 

Pink, as the dawn, to the sunset's rose-amber. 

Over old walls how they struggle and clamber; 

Never a desolate place but they fill it; 

Never a desolate heart but they thrill it, 

Sharer of happiness, soother of woes. 

Room among men for the conqueror rose. 

Time for the roses, take time for the roses. 
Plant them to brighten each bare flowerless place; 
Plenty of roses for children to gather, 
Plenty of roses to gladden dull weather. 
Cut them for bouquet and basket and vase, 
Send them to bring delight to a sad face ; 
See at their coming how aged eyes will brighten. 
See at their coming how leaden cares lighten. 
All they will say for you, melody knows. 
Time in our lives, for the beautiful rose. 



[440] 



Time for the roses, plant gardens of roses, 
Fair little Edens to brighten the years ; 
Wreathe the white cottage and garland the palace. 
Richer than gold is each morn-jeweled chalice. 
Greeting the sun with its dew-crystal tears, 
Life would be grayer, dull care would be duller 
But for their fragrance and beauty and color ; 
Every heart opens, all gateways unclose, 
Long reign the beautiful conqueror, rose. 



BROKEN HEARTS. 

They beat beneath lace, jewels, flowers. 
Fit decorations of their bier; 
But none will stop to drop a tear, 
Or watch through all the weary hours. 

Or 'neath the cheapest garb they throb. 
Their onward march to death and rest; 
For night will come and it is best 
For smothered sigh and stifled sob. 

O do not scoff! If we could know 
The sweetest faces that we meet 
Smile above human hearts that beat 
Sad minor strains in vespers low. 

Hush, careless laugh and cruel jest. 
Twine Sympathy's sweet flowers with Mirth ; 
Pray for the broken hearts of earth, 
Deep buried in a faithful breast. 

That broken harp that still sounds sweet. 
Through night and storm, Hope's gladsome chords ; 
For wounded valor Earth hath words, 
For this, the silence of defeat. 

[441 ] 



BURIED. 

In the mystic realm of reason^ 
Hidden from the critic's vision , 
In the vernal vale elysian, 

Where our cherished fancies throng, 
Close beside affection's river, 
Flowing from the heart forever, 
Lie the tombs of thoughts that never 

Can be woven into song. 

In the moonlight, sad and solemn. 
Lighting up each broken column, 
'Neath the willow branches fallen, 

Dipping in the surging stream. 
Elegy and allegory. 
Who can read the secret story. 
In the pensive moonlight glory. 

Like the measures of a dream? 

All alone within the glistening 
Of the slanting starlight, listening 
For the cold shroud garments rustling 

Of some silent sleeper there. 
All alone, no fellow mortal 
Ever passed that guarded portal ; 
Hush ! No human sound shall startle 

One from out its sepulcher. 



[442] 



Just outside the cemetery, 
In fantastic costumes airy; 
Fancies dance in circles merry, 

Dance to music lightly gay. 
But within a hush unbroken, 
Thoughts that lie and live unspoken. 
Thoughts that time can never waken 

From their silent lethargy. 

There are graves and graves unnumbered, 
That for years and years have slumbered, 
Whether with white snows encumbered, 

Or with sunshine gilded o'er. 
Snows their outer forms may whiten, 
Sunshine may their sadness brighten, 
But their burden naught can lighten — 

They are graves forevermore. 

So beneath the smiles of gladness 
Often lie the tombs of sadness; 
Were it not a dream of madness, 

Their existence to deny. 
Spent may be the storm-clouds weeping, 
Under smiles and sunshine sleeping; 
Two perchance one record keeping. 

Carved in stone and memory. 

Long may we forget the hidden 
Haunts that souls alone have trodden, 
'Till some tolling bell unbidden 

Calls away to other years. 
Back to dream in twilight pausing, 
While the gates behind us closing, 
Entrance unto all refusing. 

Rise Hke mighty barriers. 



[443] 



Ah, despair the brain would madden, 
Did no flowers of promise gladden, 
Even while their glories sadden. 

Every wreath-encircled urn. 
All the burdened air they lighten. 
For in bud and bloom is written, 
These in midnight gloom forgotten 

To the sunlight shall return. 



WE CANNOT KNOW EACH OTHER. 

We cannot know each other, 

Though bound by strongest ties; 
And though, oft with deep meaning. 

Soul to kindred soul replies. 
Though we mingle in life's harvest. 

And our sheaves together glean. 
Yet though no discord may part us, 

A great gulf is fixed between. 

We cannot know each other, 

Little worlds we have apart; 
From the busy world around us. 

Hidden deep in mind and heart. 
Peopled with a thousand feelings. 

Aspirations, thoughts, desires, 
Unrevealed to foe or loved ones, 

Yet alive with quenchless fires. 



444 



We cannot know each other, 

And the great world may not see 
If our souls are clad in blackness 

Or in snowy purity. 
Yet we mold that hidden empire, 

In the sight of higher powers, 
To a wilderness of thistles. 

Or a paradise of flowers. 

We cannot know each other, 

And we know the plan is wise, 
For so much of inward feeling, 

Outward action underlies. 
Love might die like withered blossoms, 

Friendship's charm no more exist, 
If from every hidden motive. 

Were removed the shadowy mist. 

Shall we ever know each other? 

Oh! the boundless realm of thought! 
Oh! the living worlds around us 

That we comprehended not! 
When we reach the many mansions. 

And in angel anthems share; 
Without fear of fault or blemish, 

We can know each other there. 



[445] 



THE TWO ROADS. 

There are only two roads of life, my friend, 

Only two roads to take; 
One, all of the way doth higher ascend, 
And one, goeth down to the very end. 

Yours is the choice to make. 

You are standing now at the open gate 

Beneath Youth's budding vine; 
You must traverse one ere the dawn is late. 
If you take the wrong, 'tis no freak of fate, 

For the free choice is thine. 

There are only two roads, oh! pause and think. 

Hold rashness with bit and rein; 
Lest low in the deep, stagnant mire you sink. 
And only a trodden and broken link 

Be left of life's jeweled chain. 

The road may look easier now, my friend. 

That leadeth forever more down; 
Gayer flowers, I know, by the wayside bend, 
But a bitterness with their bloom will blend, 

And they weave but a fading crown. 

The road may look difficult from afar, 

That leadeth forevermore up; 
But at every step there's a nearer star, 
A laurel branch for each broken bar. 

And a pearl in each bitter cup. 



[446] 



There are only two roads, then oh, wisely spurn 

The glittering, tempting, snare ; 
Should you strive from its easy course to return 
With torn, bleeding feet, you would climb but to learn 

That the hardest steeps are there. 

There are only two roads, 'tis reason's call. 
The answer is yours alone; 
Down! faster down! to a fathomless fall. 
Or up 'till the mountains of triumph tall 
Are steps to a victor's throne. 



THE REVEALING. 

How do we know how we love each other. 
We who are never for long apart; 
Daughter and son or sister and brother. 
Husband and wife or father and mother. 
Under the same roof, heart to heart? 

Sometimes there cometh a sad revealing, 
O, his terrible, terrible name is — Death; 
Who enters the household softly stealing. 
And puts out the tapers of thought and feeling 
With one chill blast of his icy breath ! 

Comes he to test our loves and prove them, 

Loves half forgotten in life's pursuit? 

O but we learn how much we love them 

When the cold grave clods lie dark above them, 

With their bright eyes closed and the sweet lips mute! 



[447] 



"IN ALL THEIR AFFLICTION HE WAS AFFLICTED, 
(Isaiah 63:9.) 

Thou, tempest tossed and wrecked in troubled waters, 
Hope's anchor cast, and wait the coming morn; 
In Bethlehem to Zion's troubled daughters. 
The Saviour Christ was born. 

Unto Faith's starry vision is depicted 
The sympathizing Saviour at thy side; 
He in all thy affliction is afflicted, 
The angel of His presence is thy guide. 

Look up, tried soul, when in His love and pity, 
He who redeemed thee unto God from sin. 
Prepares a place within His holy city 
Where thou shalt enter in. 

A rest, a refuge, midst those Heavenly places. 
The Saviour's love prepares ; 
A waking to the light of loved lost faces. 
Unchanged save in the loss of earthly cares. 

Shall we remember all the vain regretting 

In that bright world? Dark clouds that shadowed this? 

No; we shall waken to a glad forgetting 

Of everything save bliss. 

For in Christ's presence can be felt no sorrow, 
Regrets behind or threatening fears before; 
To-day the cross with Him, but oh, to-morrow 
Pleasures at His right hand forevermore ! 



[448 



SONG OF REJOICING. 

Rejoice, to-day in David's house a prince is born, 

Who shall Isaiah's prophecy fulfill; 

And lo, above the little town of Bethlehem 

The guiding star, the holy star, in peace stands still. 

Chorus. 

Heaven's gates are backward swinging, 
Glad angel voices over all are singing; 
Now behold the wise men bringing 
Their precious gifts rejoicing from afar. 

He is born the captive Nations to redeem, 

This the rapture and the glory of their theme ; 

And the shepherds hear the singing of the angel throng, 

"Glory to God, peace and good will," this is their song. 

Chorus. 

Precious gifts the wise men bring. 

Glorious songs the angels sing. 

Men and angels crown Him the eternal King. 



[449] 



SUMMER CLOUDS. 
1884. 

I watched the clouds at evening 
When the Summer day neared its close, 
As above the sentinel mountain peaks 
Their pinnacled temples rose. 

Mistily blending together 
The faint, fleecy curtains unfold ; 
In the sky's magic mirror revealing, 
Linings of silver and gold. 

And here and there in the fluffy foam, 
A twinkling star shines through; 
Mingling a golden radiance 
With the filmy tints of blue. 

'Till they seem like the pearly gateway. 
With the city towers just beyond ; 
O'er whose walls of glittering jasper 
Eternal day has dawned. 

Oh ! I almost catch the melody 

That the angels sing in Heaven ; 

As I watch the faint, fair Summer clouds. 

O'er the sky's blue curtain driven. 

And my soul mounts up on eagle's wings. 
To explore the realms unknown, 
While life and death in a new, strange light, 
Seem but a part to the throne. 



[450] 



When I think of the joy awaiting, 
Beyond the bier and the shroud , 
Death seems but a transient shadow, 
A passing Summer cloud. 



THEY WEEP XO MORE. 

They weep no more, the glorified. 

For whom Heaven's gates have opened wide ; 

Upon the river's peaceful shore. 

Before the throne, they weep no more. 

They weep no more, in cloudless day 
Their tears forever wiped away; 
Their sorrows past, their heartaches o'er. 
Their fears forgot, they weep no more. 

They weep no more, in Heaven's bright clime. 
Who measure not the lapse of time ; 
While He, who all their burden bore, 
Is in their midst, they weep no more. 

They weep no more, ah! would we weep. 
Could we unveil Life's mystery deep, 
And catch one passing glimpse before. 
Of those we wept, who weep no more? 

Life's ills, how trifling would they grow. 
How transient ever}' earthly woe; 
Our faith on wings of song would soar, 
And join with theirs, to weep no more. 



[451 



WHO IS HE? 

Who is He of whom they tell me, 
Who this Christ of whom they say 
He was born in Bethlehem's manger 
And He lives in Heaven to-day? 
That His life taught noble doctrines 
That should influence yours and mine; 
O, so wonderfully human, 

Good and true, but not divine ! 

I am saddened by the story, 
Wheresoe'er I hear it told; 

the ring of worthless metal. 
Counterfeiting Heaven's pure gold! 
O, this Christ of skeptic science ! 
Not what He professed to be — 
Yet a human moral teacher, 

Lifted up for you and me. 

1 would turn away disheartened. 
Sick and weary of the theme ; 
As their little ones are turning, 

Who have dreamed this dreadful dream. 
But so sweetly through the storm cry. 
As to Peter on the sea, 
Comes that voice divine, that speaketh 
From the life of Christ to me. 



[452] 



More than man — though grandly human ; 
More than God to fallen man 
Who was lost, and wrecked, and ruined, 
With no Christ in Heaven's plan. 
Pause — before you rend the glory 
Of God's Holy Word apart; 
Read from Christ's own words the story 
Falling on the human heart. 
Stay the hand that reaches blindly 
Where His sacred truths are found. 
To tear down for cobweb fictions — 
Holy, holy is the ground ! 



IF 



Powerless shall the tempest rage. 
Naught can take thy heritage ; 
Life in bloom from dark earth grown, 
All. that's sweet and true thine own. 
Open heart and hand to hold, 
Riches never bought or sold; 
Let life's sweetness come to you, 
If your life be sweet and true. 

If your life be sweet and true. 
All such things belong to you; 
All that's sweet and true, all song, 
Fragrance, beauty, all but wrong, 
All but discord, darkness, death; 
All the joy that trembleth 
On the air in thought and form. 
Raindrop music in the storm. 
Raindrop splendor on the cloud. 
Angel wings above the shroud. 



[453] 



ASPIRATIONS. 

Could I but write some living thought, 
Some truth to never be forgot; 
Some pearl of feeling shed in love 
That had its origin above, 
Or sing a song sublime. 
Could I but know their influence sweet 
Had helped to make the work complete 
Of touching, in some heart's domain. 
Chords that shall never pause again 
Throughout the bounds of time. 

And when this pen with age shall rust. 

This hand be summoned dust to dust, 

This weary brain forget to think. 

And sundered be each golden link 

In friendship's jeweled chain. 

Then may the dreams of vanished years. 

Bathed in the tide of human tears. 

Break forth like burning stars. 

And guide some wanderer with their light 

To sunlit heights again. 

Then gladly would I leave behind 
The chains that now my spirit bind; 
Then peaceful would my slumber be 
Unbroken as a summer sea, 
Untroubled by regret. 
This would erase life's parting pain, 
To know I had not lived in vain; 
To know my race was bravely run. 
To know my work was truly done 
Before my day-star set. 



[454] 



Is it for fame ? Forbid the dream 
To enter an unselfish theme. 
But oh ! to bloom like some sweet flower 
Unseen in its sequestered bower, 
Its modest name unknown, 
Wafting sweet fragrance on the air, 
That e'en the lowliest child may share , 
Yet satisfied its fame untold. 
To perish in the silent mold. 
Unmarked by sculptured stone. 

Or like some warbler bubbling o'er with song, 
Whose clear Dotes ring, the forest aisles along; 
Who hears unchanged remarks of slight or praise, 
Content to sing through dark or summer days 
Pure heartfelt notes, that wealth nor glory bring, 
But leave unchanged the lessons they have taught 
When the sweet singer long has been forgot 
Forever in the minds that heard to glow 
Till hearts that know their fullness overflow. 
And in a grander song their echo sing. 



[455] 



THE WAVES AND THE ROCKS. 

O the beautiful, azure, white-capped waves, 

And the grand, grey rocks, 
\Miere the sea-gull's wing in the breaker laves, 

And no tempest shocks. 

Brightly the sk}-'s blue banner streams 

O'er the blue waves now. 
And the daisy's sapphire gem that gleams 

From the boulder's brow. 

Is it a tale that the wild wind raves. 

That each listener shocks; 
Of the innocent, smiling, deep blue waves, 

And the grand old rocks ? 

It is only a few short hours they say, 

Since a human form 
Was caught by the waves in their idle play, 

Midst no wrathful storm. 

But just for their cruel sport alone, 

'Gainst the sharp rock dashed ; 
With their vast united strength upthrown, 

Where the white surf splashed. 

Struggling, despairing, reaching out 

For some hold to clasp; 
'Till the treacherous waves, while they laugh and shout, 

Let go their grasp. 

And the cruel rocks in their clammy hold, 

Near the shell-strewn beach, 
Lift the mangled form, now still and cold, 

From the strong waves reach. 



[456] 



Ye may sport, grey rocks and breakers blue, 

But your charms have fled; 
For a mother and sister because of you 

Weep o'er their dead. 

With a dirge (through each swell that the rough shore laves) 

Death's phantom stalks ; 
Ye chill, mocking, rollicking, treacherous waves, 

Ye cruel rocks ! 



LAUREL DELL. 

Where the California laurel droops its slender branches low, 
'Till they play, caress and quarrel with the lake by which they 

grow ; 
Where the flowers bloom the brightest. 
Bluest, rosiest and whitest. 
Where the water-lilies yellow 
Lie like golden fruit and mellow 

On the waters, azure waters, dreamy waters of the lake. 
There to wander, dream and ponder, 
Care and toil and pain forsake; 
Cast them madly, sadly, gladly. 

On the waters, dreamy waters, there to sleep and never wake. 
Here the butterfly enraptured rises on the scented gales. 
Gold from liquid sunbeams captured glimmers in his silken sails 
As he floats in airy motion 
O'er the miniature blue ocean 
To the cat-tail flags that shiver. 
And the slender reeds that quiver. 
O'er the waters, azure waters, crystal waters of the lake. 



[457 



RETRIBUTION 

No human law can reach all human wrong, 
Only a God can judge this world of ours 
Where cruel hawks disturb the birds of song. 
And coarsest weeds choke out the sweetest flowers. 

Where Infamy can break sweet Virtue down, 
And strew her Hly petals in the dust; 
Then turn to wear applause's proffered crown, 
And fill a throne of trust. 

Where Tyranny still holds in chains her slaves, 
And helpless under Freedom's stripes and stars; 
Where some who Honor crowns are greater knaves, 
Than some who languish behind prison bars. 

Where little lives, oft trampled in the dust. 
Distorting all their promised symmetry. 
Grow up to lie before some adverse gust. 
Fallen and lost as snowflakes from the sky. 

Where slander, cruelty and dark deceit, 

Make misery to mar a world of bliss , 

What human law for these can Justice mete. 

Or quell the flood that drowns earth's happiness? 

We suffer, body, soul and heart and mind. 
Woe for which we can find no cure, no cause ; 
The direst troubles that afflict mankind 
Are penalties of violated laws. 

Wronged nature crushed by frailty and fraud 
Cries out for justice and approves the plan 
That all shall stand before the bar of God, 
Who only can just judgment mete to man. 

[458] 



But God looks down from above and sees 
Life's little drama through and through; 
And clear to Him are the mysteries 
Of wrongs and crimes that elude our view. 

The grave of the murdered heart and brain, 
The brow that is set with the mark of Cain ; 
And His retribution comes swift and sure 
As the iron wheels of the evening train. 

They yet may pity who of vengeance dream, 
When falls the feeble arm of human might; 
And the Great Judge, o'er countless worlds supreme, 
Makes all things right. 

Build strong the fortress of thy character, 
Midst crumbling reputation, honor, fame, 
To stand before the eternal judgment bar. 
Acquitted of all blame. 



I 459 J 



COME. 

Look, when Mercy's day is past 

Heaven's pearly gates have closed at last; 

Within victorious millions shout, 

And the lost Nations wail without! 

Was it their crimes that sealed their doom? 

No; Christ has plead with them to come, 

Not Earth's most heinous sins forgiven 

Have barred one deathless soul from Heaven. 

They come to-morrow and too late. 

To enter at the pearly gate; 

To-day is Mercy's open gate, 

They come to-morrow and too late. 

To-night be strong O faltering heart, 
And bid the tempting one depart ; 
Come from the darkness into light. 
While Jesus calls, oh, come to-night ! 
To-morrow, oh, the uncertain doom, 
Christ and His mercy may be gone; 
God and His justice, in thy sight 
May stand where Jesus stands to-night! 

To-night the evil one stands near 
To turn thy courage into fear ; 
'Tis he who bars the living way, 
'Tis Satan's voice that whispers "Stay." 

To-morrow, oh, the dread abyss. 
Where sinking hope and happiness. 
The foolish lingering wait! 
Come from that brink of danger, come. 
That dread abyss may be thy doom ; 
To-morrow be too late! 



[460 



To-night the loving Saviour stands 
With gentle face, with beckoning hands ; 
O heart, with sin and anguish dumb, 
'Tis Jesus' voice that whispers "Come! 



LOST HOPE. 

The flowers will all come back again, 

The flowers that faded on hill and plain ; 

The birds will return another Spring, 

The birds that a while have ceased to sing; 

But Hope that died with their song and bloom 

Will wake no more from its Winter tomb. 

The stars will twinkle another night, 

The stars that faded before our sight; 

And the sun that sank in the sorrowful west 

Shall wake like the birds from their nightly rest: 

But Hope that illumined the day and night 

Has faded forever, forever, from sight. 



[461] 



THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 

Alone, alone, with my heart, alone with my heart to-night! 
Was it an angel passing by swift in her vesture white, 
Or a demon flashing an evil leer. 
Bold in his blackness to venture near, 
Haunting the place with a ghostish fear? 

God is in Heaven to-night ! Is He on earth ? 

Writhing in misery, reveling in mirth, 

Man is on earth, O horrible man. 

Under iniquity's terrible ban! 

Go where he goeth to-night if you can. 

Go where he goeth to-night, come not forever to tell 

How thou hast trodden on earth, yes on earth, the veriest border 

of Hell, 
Come not to tell me of man's awful blight. 
That wrong in his breast is the victor of right, 
I know it, I know it to-night! 

That evil, evil is king, and man but a trembling slave. 

That evil passions have wrought his chains and darkness is 

digging his grave; 
That on womanhood's crowned brow burneth a darker brand 
Than the mark by which guilty Cain from the presence of God 

was banned; 
Oh, the brand that is on her brow; oh, the blood that is on her 

hand! 

Why does the world not sink with its burden of guilt and woe. 

Tottering on the abysmal brink of the chasm that yawns below ? 

Turn from the dens of vice with their gloom. 

Come to the dwellings of virtue, come 

To the house of God and the Christian home. 



[462] 



Come where an angel kneels in prayer for the erring feet, 
Whose voice is drowned by the noise that reels up from the 

drunken street; 
Come where manhood and womanhood 
Staunch through the dust of the fray have stood; 
Thank God for the true and the good! 



THE PATHS OF PEACE. 

Perhaps God knew I was too frail to meet 
Life's rough storm tossing or its scorching heat, 
So He made smooth, quiet pathways for my feet, 
Where dewy roses bloomed and birds sang sweet 
Beside still waters, where rude tempests lull. 
And even sorrow seemeth beautiful. 

No fierce, wild joy is mine, no stormy woe. 

Calmly He leads where quiet rivers flow; 

This is my life to-day, I cannot know 

How long 'twill last or why God wills it so; 

In these green pastures, through these quiet days, 

I'll tune my heart to incense sweet, and praise. 

O loving kindness, broad, and deep, and wide! 
O mercy, scattered free on every side ! 
O peace that every grief hath sanctified! 
Thou, Thou art God and Thou for man hast died! 



[463 



MOONLIGHT BOAT SONG 

The night's pale queen her silvery sheen, 

Has flung the waves across ; 
While 'round our boat in gleeful sport 

The pretty wavelets toss; 
Then splash, splash, dash, dash, 

Ye merry oars at play! 
Though shadows veil the distant sail, 

'Tis moonlight on the bay. 

The moonbeams fall on hut and hall. 

And bathe the frowning cliff. 
While shadows stalk 'round crag and rock. 

As on our frail bark drifts; 
Then splash, splash, dash, dash! 

Gone is the twilight gray. 
The splendor gilds the distant hills, 

'Tis moonlight on the bay. 

The island turf and beaten surf 

Are steeped in mellow light, 
Though day's proud king is journeying 

Beyond the western height; 
Then splash, splash, dash, dash, 

Ye merry oars at play! 
The night's pale queen has spread her sheen 

Across the twilight bay. 



[464 



SHE IS NOT GONE. 

She is not gone, they do not know who say it, 
How ever present is she in my thoughts, 
The rainbow fades not 'till its threads of light 
With Life's strong web are wrought; 
The sunset fades not 'till its shreds sun-spangled 
By the Soul's loom are caught ; 
The threads of other lives with ours entangled 
Can never be forgot. 

She is not gone. 

Some little word just how I heard her say it ; 

Some little song I heard her sing and play it; 

Some little thought, or look. Time cannot stay it ; 

Her life that still goes on. 

The face still smiling on me faded never 

Through time and space; 

The love that lived and lives, and shall forever, 

Still hath its place. 



[465] 



THE OTHER SIDE. 

I have looked on the other side of hfe, 

The side men seldom view, 

I have stopped my ears to earth's jarring sound, 

I have veiled my eyes, and on holy ground 

I have planted my feet anew. 

And I've seen the nobler side of life, 

And I've found in this estate 

That the things sometimes least prized on earth 

Are really of the richest worth. 

Somewhere in Truth's estimate. 

And I fret no more 'gainst the prison bars 
Where my soul beat deaf and blind ; 
For I know to-day that the best success 
Is not to be blessed, but to live and bless. 
And peace is the pearl I find. 

I flutter no wings for forbidden things 
That never were meant for me; 
'Tis sweeter to know in the highest plan 
I am doing the very best I can. 
Whatever that best may be. 



[466] 



THE WAY, THE TRUTH AND THE LIFE 

Lost in the labyrinth of Hfe, 

Groping in doubt and mystery, 
Sweetly the voice of Jesus speaks : 

'T am the Way." 

Stumbling o'er errors, creeds and doubts, 

To hoary age and heedless youth, 
Softly the voice of Jesus speaSs: 

"I am the Truth." 

Falling beside the weary road. 

Wounded and dying in the strife. 
Gently the voice of Jesus speaks : 

"I am the Life." 

Lost, stumbling, falling, still, oh still! 

Above life's discord, wrong and strife. 
The voice of Jesus speaks and says : 

'T am the Way, the Truth, the Life." 



[467 



A PETITION. 

Father, the way is dark, Thy child is lost, 

Lost on life's winding road; 
Take Thou my hand until the wild be crossed, 

Bear Thou my load. 

My heavy load, the burden of my heart, 

My weight of care; 
Oh, let me bring it to Thee where Thou art. 

And leave it there ! 

Give me the promise now for which I wait, 

That Thou wilt lead ; 
That no vague phantom voice of chance or fate 

Shall bid me speed. 

I dare not trust the dearest friend on earth 

To choose my path, 
Nor pray Thee send the strongest angel forth, 

High Heaven hath. 

Hearken my Father, unto Thee I call, 

To Thee alone. 
Come to me quickly, quickly lest I fall. 

Ere light is shone. 

Clasp Thou my trembling hand in thine so strong, 

Then shall I speed 
Gladly and swiftly, joyfully along 

Where Thou dost lead. 



[468] 



EVERY HEART KNOWETH ITS BITTERNESS 

Every heart knoweth its bitterness, 

Every spirit its own distress; 

Every life hath its pain and care, 

Every traveler his load to bear. 

O, shall we sink 'neath our given load. 
Hopeless and weak by the dusty road? 
Thinking of all who must journey there, 
Ours is the hardest load to bear! 

Look where the wounded and worn have trod, 
Sprinkling the pathway with tears and blood; 
Look where the dying have struggled on. 
Look where the burdened hosts have gone. 

Hopeless and crippled, and blind, and old, 

Grasping their burden with feeble hold ; ^ 

Cheering the journey with jest and song, 

Clearing our way as they passed along. 

O, if our hearts are but strong and true. 
We shall not stumble the long way through! 
O, if our feet are but brave and swift. 
Many another's load we'll lift! 

What if our hearts a bitterness know. 
Weigh it against earth's great deep of woe; 
Only a drop in the world's distress. 
Every heart knoweth its bitterness. 



[469] 



LIFE'S POSSIBILITIES. 

could I have the choosing 
Of what my Hfe should be, 

1 would make it all so lovely, 
So grand, and broad, and free. 
So strong in its high endeavor, 
So sweet in its harmony. 

Over and over and over 

Will the useless wish repeat, 

I have hushed it, bravely crushed it 

Like a flower beneath my feet, 

But only to make its fragrance 

Grow stronger and more sweet. 

What would my life be think you 

Could I sit me down and plan 

For myself each year and moment 

That maketh the earthly span ? 

O, the perfect joy of living 

With never a pain or care. 

With never a blighted prospect, 

And never a chill despair, 

With never a weary burden, 

Of thankless toil to bear! 

I would make it a path of beauty. 

Where loveliest flowers would grow ; 

I would make it a path of duty 

Where an angel would gladly go, 

I would cast all the sin and sorrow. 

All the dread of my heart aside. 

No evil to bear or borrow, 

No triumph to be denied ; 

I would spend all the days in winning 

Life's noblest and grandest good, 

I would miss all the clouds that darken 



[470] 



The promise of womanhood; 

Life is a strange awakening, 

And death is a stranger sleep ; 

We wake from our infant slumber, 

And from childhood's roseate dream, 

To learn at first vaguely and dimly 

That things are not what they seem; 

That the bright coals are hot and burning 

That our eager fingers grasp. 

That we cannot prison the sunbeams 

That our hands so long to clasp ; 

And later, that disappointment 

And pain are the price of breath. 

And one day we wake to ponder 

The dread, dread mystery of death; 

And thicker and faster around us 

Life's problems like snowflakes fall, 

'Till they weigh us down with their burden. 

And cover us with their pall; 

But the future is dark beyond me, 

Not a single year can I plot, 

I must do the best before me, 

Make the most of my given lot; 

Take the pleasure and pain of living 

With a cheerful heart and strong. 

Nourish the good within me, 

And trample the sin and wrong. 

And strive, though my feeble striving. 

Win never a longed-for prize ; 

And live, though the boon of living 

Be death in a strange disguise. 

Forgetting the ideal splendor, 

The "might-be," and the "wish," and "guess, 

And the little "ifs" that flutter 

Like rose-petals on the grass. 



[471] 



NONE SHALL BE LOST WHOM GOD CAN SAVE 

Could we only realize God's great love for us, 
Tearing off Doubt's dark disguise, 
Looking with Faith's cloudless eyes, 
Would we grieve Him thus ? 

Sometimes we may almost feel that God scarce would care 
Should the last dread thunder's peal 
Set our doom's eternal seal 
In the gulf — Despair. 

Or like some great judge austere, righteous in His wrath, 
Just, unchangeable, severe 
One to honor, One to fear 
For the power He hath. 

God, who made the world so fair, God who gave us breath, 
Lo, the sparrow knows His care ! 
Will He ought of effort spare, 
View unmoved our death? 

What last hope would we neglect that might save a dying friend? 
O the horror to reflect 
On one life eternal wrecked 
Drifting to its end! 

"God is justice," we may cry, fearing from His throne above, 
For our sins He bids us die. 
While the holy words reply: 
"God is love." 

Love repining at our fall, Love rejoicing to forgive, 
Love that hears our every call, 
None might perish, but that all 
Turn to Him and live. 



[472 



O that we could comprehend dimly the great height and depth 
Who His pledge of love did send, 
Through that kind and loving friend 
Who o'er Lazarus wept! 

'Round our souls are Satan's coils strong to weigh us down, 
O that Love that tireless toils. 
Robbing death of noble spoils, 
Calling to our crown ! 

O inhuman would we prove, carelessly engrossed. 
Mocking all a Father's love. 
Love that warmeth from above, 
Ere His child is lost ! 



ARCATA 

O green hills of x\rcata, I come thy Summer's guest. 

As some tired bird from flying above the sea's unrest. 

As some unquiet spirit longing for Nature's psalm. 

And even now I hear it, that symphony of calm; 

'Tis breathed by rocks and mosses, 'tis sung by stream and hill. 

And all life's petty crosses for very shame are still ! 

O Nature, lovely Nature, thou hast no fevered dreams ! 

There's quiet in thy cloistered nooks, there's coolness in thy 

streams. 
Lend me thy daisy pillow to rest my weary brain. 
Soft breeze and waving willow chant ye my slumber strain. 



[473 



TRUE WORTH. 

This is no place for envyings and strife, 
Where Death stalks to and fro 
With careless tread among the flowers of life 
And bends them low. 

No place for bigotry and high conceit, 
Where Time with ruthless hand 
Lays low the forest monarchs at his feet, 
And all that man has planned. 

We may fall short of all our highest aims. 
But God alone can see 

Deeper than he who censures us and blames 
All that we tried to be. 



MANZANITA BLOOMS 

Not fairer the blossoms of April days, 

Or June aweary with gay bouquets, 

Or Autumn glowing with leaves and berries, 

Or faint with the fragrance of lighted rooms. 

Than the honeyed garland that Nature carries 

In the heart of the Western Februaries 

When the manzanita blooms. 

But there on the sunny upland slopes. 

And crowning the rocky hills, 

Where the mountain oak tosses grey moss plumes, 

They open, the sweet manzanita blooms. 

And soon shall their fragrant pink-tipped flakes 

Weight the bending branch where the bird-song wakes, 

'Till the hill is white with their fragrant snows. 

And the first March wind through the tree-top blows. 



[474] 



BE TRUE. 

Though fortune frown on all thy cherished plans, 
Though fades the bow that life's horizon spans, 
Though promise withers on earth's barren sands. 
Be true. 

Though friends forsake thee in thine hour of need, 
Though bruised and trodden like a broken reed, 
Thou shalt arise if every thought and deed 
Be true. 

Not long to earth shall truth in sorrow cling, 
Not long on barren sands lie withering, 
Destined forever 'midst the stars to sing 
Be true. 

Be true, for truth shall triumph in the end. 
Be true, for truth shall never lack a friend ; 
If thou wouldst soar and evermore ascend. 
Be true. 

Up rugged steeps thy weary feet may go. 
If thou wouldst hear the tempest beat below. 
If thou wouldst seas of endless sunshine know — 
Be true. 

If thou wouldst face the lurid storm unawed. 
Rise from the foggy air and quaking sod, 
Unto thyself, thy calling and thy God, 
Be true. 



[475] 



SUCCESS AND FAILURE. 

Who drains the goblet of Success 

To find it ever brimming, 
Proves not to me by simply this 
His undisputed worthiness 
To wear the crown of kingliness 

That pride is often dimming. 

Who finds but Failure's bitter dregs 
In some great undertaking, 

Proves not by simply this to me 

That rightly and deservedly 

He forfeits true nobility. 
All claim to honors breaking. 

'Tis glorious to succeed and wear 

Success's living laurel, 
But when ennobling Effort's crown 
But serves to weight that effort down, 
As growing reefs of high renown 

Reveal the hidden coral. 

If some vain ego of disdain 

Usurp the throne empyreal, 
Some proud usurper to displace 
King Kindness and each kindred grace, 
And Queen Humility's sweet face 
Of charms ethereal. 

Success becomes poor Failure's twin 

Blessed with prosperity, 
One, plunged in misery and want, 
Bearing low Failure's dismal taunt, 
The other, in delight to flaunt 

His title of feigned verity. 

[476] 



Yet Failure hath ofttimes a worth 

To minds too high to grovel. 
He, who beholds his chosen star 
Grow day by day more faint and far, 
Yet lets not this his nature mar. 

Is great without approval. 

And see'st thou one whom worth equips, 
To be the great of sect or nation, 

Yet through whose wisdom-guarded lips 

No word of egotism slips; 

And through whose daily acts there trips 
No phantom of self-approbation. 

That one sets first a Christian grace 

In Grandeur's jeweled coronet; 
That pearl whose heaven-enkindled rays 
Shine on undimmed by slight or praise. 
Rebuking false Ambition's gaze, 
Dazed by Fame's golden parapet. 



[477] 



BEHOLD HE PKWETH 

No mind so lost in error's rayless night 

That fervent prayer will fail 

To reach by Faith's strong arm beyond the veil 

Of reason's doubt, 

And to the stars gone out 

Turn on God's light. 

And shall prayer not avail for you — for me 
In all things — at all times? Look back and see 
The power of evil in one life defied. 
The prosecutor of God's saints prevail 
xA-nd rise to preach the Christ he crucified. 

Wanderers in error, false belief and doubt, 
The light of truth from Heaven 

Shines 'round about. 
No seeker for Truth's pure and priceless gem 

Shall be denied. 
No traveler to a new Jerusalem 

Need want a guide. 
No heavy load too great for Him to bear. 
No burden borne, too little for His care; 
And oh, to live above the crush of doubt, 
To walk with God among those higher lights. 
Where when the flickering lamps of earth go out 
Heaven's beacon fires illume the darkest nights! 

No more a slave to fear, and doubt, and dread, 
Earth 'neath my feet. Heaven opened overhead ; 
From Faith's low altar, where in prayer it bends 
This, the first heaven to which the soul ascends. 
Ascends to learn that many things but seem. 
That Heaven is real and only earth a dream; 



[478] 



Then tell me not that anything shall stand 
Before God's will, His child's divine desire, 
God, who could lift the ocean in His hand 
To quench the violence of consuming fire. 
By human reasoning wrong shall win the fight, 
In utter darkness go out star and sun — 
The Christian waits the triumph of the right- 
Behold he prayeth and it shall be done. 



MY CHOICE 

Go revel in banquet, and dress, and wine. 

In worldly pleasures without restraint, 

Be triumphs of beauty and splendor thine, 

Be this thy choice, but it is not mine 

As I kneel at the grave of my little saint. 

I would rather pass like my little May 

With a victor's tread through the gates of day, 

With a song of faith and an angel's smile. 

Than be queen of the world for a little while. 

I see not the coffin that holds her dust. 

The grave where she slumbers is left below. 

As borne on the wings of her Christian trust 

To the land where she liveth my glad thoughts go ; 

I shall see her again, for she is not dead, 

"I will wait in Heaven 'till you come," she said. 



[479 



O DWELLER IN THE DREAMY PAST 

Sad and sweet, sad and sweet, the heavenly notes are falling; 
Throb and beat, throb and beat, O heart, that hears them calling. 
Come back, come back while day-beams last, 
O dweller in the dreamy past ! 

Soft and low, soft and low, the organ tones are floating; 
Sad and slow, sad and slow, their mournful waves unnoting. 
Wake up, with vanished clouds o'ercast, 
O dweller in the dreamy past ! 

Far away, far away, let phantom dreams be banished; 
Oh, to-day, oh to-day, dream not of moments vanished, 
Wake up, the hours fly swift and fast, 
O dweller in the dreamy past ! 

Long ago, long ago, those pulseless dreams were buried ; 
Sad and slow, sad and slow, their unseen pall was carried. 
The hope-starred future still thou hast, 
O dweller in the dreamy past ! 



[480] 



THE HEAVENLY HOPE 

Take not this hope, this high-born hope, I plead, 
World, whose loud voices tell me to forget it, 
For when those voices like lost waves recede 
How shall I waken sadly to regret it ! 
O, take not that for which man lives to learn, 
Cold World, thou givest nothing in return! 

Take not this hope, this Heavenly hope away, 
Let not ambition, love or sorrow drown it 
Until I stand within Thy courts that day 
When light celestial in Thy sight shall crown it; 
Take not this hope, this one great hope away, 
This be my prayer until I cease to pray. 



GOD'S GIFT TO MAN. 

Life is the greatest gift of God to man. 

The one foundation of His perfect plan. 

Whereon the great Almighty Architect 

His boundless, endless structure doth erect ; 

Thereon the walls of Triumph have their hold 

And Joy's bright columns hewn from Hope's pure gold 

Spring up to part the curtains of the skies 

And prop the farthest vaults of Paradise. 

Life is the root of Eden's loftiest tree 

Whose ripened fruit is immortality. 

All joys, all triumphs from its branches grow, 

While at the root God's love in streams doth flow ; 

Leaves, buds and blossoms and the ripened fruit 

Are perfected and nourished by the root ; 

Let stern decay its hidden fountain doom, 

And note the sudden blight of fruit and bloom. 

[481] 



REST 
(Phil. 4:6.) 

Think of it — to have spent long months of worry 

And anxious prayer and nervous, useless dread, 

Over a misery that like these waters 

Is coming, gone, and now forever fled. 

It is the things that never come upon us 

That scar our souls and turn our tresses grey; 

Learn, oh my soul, from these thy many lessons. 

To rest and pray ! 

God gives us all the time there is for labor, and love, and rest, 

Then why this needless rush, and fret, and hurry? 

He hath all power in Heaven and earth — why worry 

When just to calmly work and pray is best? 

We'd cheat old Time of half his worry wrinkles 

If we could cast aside this useless care. 

That little star just waits, and shines, and twinkles. 

That sun a universe with glory sprinkles — 

God set them there. 

No work is asked for which no power is given. 

And what is least on earth may be the best in heaven. 

That pinioned voice, that moves hearts, nations, thrones. 

For truth and right ; 

And that winged soul, that flutters far from sight. 

Amid the tempest spray on crags and stones, 

To soothe some helpless birdling's weak despair, 

Must fly alike to God for rest, and in His care 

Fold their tired wings in prayer. 



[482] 



TO HIM THAT OVERCOMETH 

When we have overcome all things 
That were so hard to meet down here, 
I shall not care for crowns or wings, 
Or anything that angels wear ; 
And yet there will be something sweet, 
I cannot half express the thought, 
But with tired heart and aching feet, 
A little glimpse my soul has caught, 
When some soul-height in pain is won, 
Of something brighter than the sun. 

To him that overcometh, oh ! 

I cannot care for throne or crown, 

My soul has met and wrestled so 

With powers that tried to drag it down; 

I only know I did not fall, 

But met and overcame them all ; 

And yet not I, some unseen force. 

And who shall say that Heaven's white horse 

Bore not a silent warrior forth 

To fight between me and the foe, 

Because I prayed and struggled so, 

Though tired and spent? 



483 



A SUMMER MORNING 

Welcome, glad morning, night's sable curtain 
Rolls from the valley and mountains away ; 
Bursts the great sun forth in glorious splendor, 
Herald of morning and king of the day) 

Far in the distance the brooklet is singing, 
The honey-bee hums o'er the fair, fragrant flower, 
High in the tree-tops sweet bird songs are ringing ; 
And far to the west the tall mountain-peaks tower. 

Up in the oak tree, canaries sing gaily, 
Linnets perch, chirping, on trellis and wall; 
Sweet, merry warblers, ye gladden me, daily. 
As down from the tree-tops your merry notes fall. 

Beautiful picture, mountain and green wood. 
Clad in rich robes, like a fairy-queen's song, 
Radiant Summer ! to thy great storehouse 
All of these beauties and wonders belong. 



484 



TO THE TREES 

Trees of the forest and the wooded glen, 
Say will ye claim companionship with men 
Who with a smaller, weaker arm have dared 
To spill thy life-sap on thy native sward, 
And with remorseless hand thy fibers rend, 
Say, canst thou make this enemy thy friend? 
Not ours to choose, a thousand gifts attest 
That we by thy existence are but blest. 
We at thy feet might sit and learn. 
Nor feel a spark of just resentment burn ; 
But ye possess a more than human grace 
To smile upon the spoilers of thy race. 



WORTH WHILE. 

Yet after all, who knows? 
To make a real living, growing rose 
Grow stem and leaf and blossom from the soil, 
May be as glorious as to paint in oil 
Its perfectness. 

To preach great sermons may not be more great 
Than to live holy doctrines, to create 
Immortal poems, not more than to feel 
Ennobling songs, that wreathed in numbers real, 
Flow forth to bless. 

Then shall I count one little act as naught? 
There is no little work— no idle thought; 
Each shall accomplish — if for good designed — 
Part of the plan of the Creator's mind 
For human happiness. 



[48f 



BE PATIENT MY SPIRIT 

Be patient my spirit, 

This one thing is left thee — 
Thy duty, 

The Hghtnings of tempests have cleft thee 
Still, only to bear it, 

The burden down pressing, 
Will it bring thee no blessing. 
No beauty 

Of cross-purchased crown that the patient inherit. 
Of such perfect joy that 'twere Heaven to wear it? 

Be patient my spirit, 

This one thing remaineth — 
Thy duty. 

Full measure that each life containeth. 
Though faithfulness merit 

More sweet and less bitter. 
Yet small will it matter, 
The beauty. 

The pride and success that the faithless inherit 
To the cross purchased crown, when 'tis Heaven to wear it. 



A RETROSPECT 

They who enjoy most suffer most life's woes, 

And ecstasies come not alike to each. 

One little knows 

What heights and depths another's soul may reach. 

Two travelers gazing on one common scene. 
One sees a weed-grown field and threatening sky. 
The other sees a thousand charms between — 
His is the Artist's eye. 

[486] 



THE ANSWERED PETITION 

From the noonday cloud hung over the lone mount of Calvary 
Hark! a human voice that speaketh in its human misery 
From a bursting heart that throbbeth in its mortal agony : 
"When thou cometh to thy kingdom, Lord, remember me." 

Listen in soft notes of music upward floating to the skies. 
Where the sun his glorious splendor to a guilty world denies; 
Lo, a voice of matchless sweetness to the prayer of faith replies, 
Gently saying: "This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise." 

O my soul's lone cross of torture ! O my guilt and agony ! 
Gazing upward through the darkness, lo, another cross I see 
Close beside it in the shadow, this my spirit's only plea : 
"Jesus, Jesus, in thy kingdom, oh, remember me!" 

And from that lone cross of anguish where for you and me He 

dies. 
While the sun. his glorious splendor to a guilty world denies, 
In low tones of love and mercy lo, that holy voice replies 
Gently saying: "This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise." 

For a thousand years of waiting in His sight are as a day, 
At whose word, eternal ages, all unmeasured glide away; 
While before His cross of crosses all our weight of care we lay 
Evermore in faith believing with the dying thief to pray : 

"Jesus, Jesus, I am trusting, trusting only thee ; 

Jesus, Jesus, in Thy kingdom, oh remember me !" 

While in wondrous love and mercy still that holy voice replies, 

Gently saying : "This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise." 



[487] 



ROSEBUDS 

Impatient children, we, who cannot wait 
For time and sunbeams to unfold the buds, 
We spoil His roses when we try to bloom 
These plans of God's. 

These perfect plans, all folded close and tight 
From curious, prying eyes. 
Waiting for God to say: "It shall be light," 
And give us sweet suprise ; 

For certain as the velvet buds unroll 
To charm our eager gaze, 

God shall unfold each sunbeam-painted scroll 
Writ with His mysteries. 

Shall we make blighted and distorted things 
(God's good work ruined by a human hand) 
Of that which might become, we cannot think 
How beautiful and grand? 



[488] 



A VOICE FROM HEAVEN 
(Rev. 14:13.) 

I heard a voice from Heaven saying : 

(The loud world did not hear) ; 

My soul was sad, alas ! too sad for praying, 

Tired of the drama that old Time was playing. 

Too sad for thought, smile or tear; 

Then to my soul a vision sweet was given, 

I heard a voice from Heaven. 

Ah ! had the skeptic in that vision solemn 

Then stood with me and heard 

That sweet interpretation of the Word, 

That voice from Heaven that floods each broken column 

Of human life with light divine and solemn ; 

Alas ! to those alone who knock is given 

To stand a moment in the light of Heaven. 

Sometimes the world stops carelessly to hearken 
Where Death with sable wings her borders darken, 
And the grand language of God's revelation 
Links heart with heart, and Nation unto Nation, 
My soul almost her earthly chain had riven 
I heard a voice from Heaven. 



[489 



MARGUERITES 

There are many gayer, costlier blooms, 
And blossoms more replete 
With gaudy colors and rare perfumes, 
But all love the marguerite. 

They are such useful little flowers, 

No other could fill their place. 

With the mingling rays of their pearly stars 

In garland or wreath or vase. 

We have cut their slender stems to adorn, 
God's house of praise and prayer ; 
We have seen their fragile blossoms worn 
To the grave to perish there. 

In cross and garland, in spray and wreath, 
We have wound each slender stem ; 
For the hall of mirth and the house of death 
Are open alike to them. 

They have shone like stars on the festive crowds 
In brilliantly lighted rooms ; 

They have waved in snowy breeze-blown clouds, 
O'er silent and shaded tombs ; 

In France our blossom so modest and sweet 
Is not without honor and fame. 
Since the beautiful princess, Marguerite, 
Gave the little flower her name. 

And the nobles of England wore wreaths of it. 
And on robes of princely price 
Embroidered the flower of Queen Margaret, 
Their lovely queen's chosen device. 

[490] 



Then bring to the scenes of mirth or gloom, 
Where the young and the aged meet. 
The flower that has faded on throne and tomb- 
The beautiful marguerite. 



THE CLIMBERS 

You have reached the top of your earthly stair, 
You must soon descend, descend, 
He must be content to climb with care, 
Whose ladder hath no end. 

The climbers for wealth and earthly fame 
Will leave him below, below; 
He climbeth to write an immortal name, 
An unending life to know. 

Then rise to thy choice of a worldly crown. 

Thy zenith is found, is found ; 

He pities thee climbing the endless way. 

Though he stand on the lowest round ; 

His pathway is up and up and up. 

And thine to the ground, the ground. 



[491 ] 



OUR AFFLICTIONS 

(In all their afflictions He was afflicted and the angel of His 
presence saved them. — Isaiah 63:9.) 

From that high Heaven so beautiful and pure, 
Canst Thou look down and see 
The bitter agony that souls endure; 
Oh, is it aught to Thee? 

Dost Thou not shrink from scenes of sin and woe, 
O King upon Thy throne? 
And all forget this suffering world below. 
Remembering Heaven alone? 

Ah, my afflictions ! Every one is Thine ! 

The angel of Thy presence in my breast 

Makes this dark world Thine own, Thy Heaven mine, 

And mingles Heaven's own peace with earth's unrest! 



A LIFE WORK 

Yes, life is too short to be wasted in trifling, 

And time is too precious to spend in regret; 

Look up, though the past has been hopeless and clouded 

There is much in the future worth living for, yet ; 

There is work for the lover of God and humanity, 

When living souls perish with nowhere to cling; 

There are golden sheaves waiting for hands that are ready, 

And songs in the air for the reapers to sing; 

Go treasure the songs grown immortal with beauty. 

Go measure what kindness and mercy are worth; 

For the crowns that will sparkle for life's noblest victors 

Will not fade with the withering laurels of earth. 



[492] 



HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP 

Across the sleeper's dreamless rest, 
The chills of death like shadows creep ; 
But pillowed on the Saviour's breast, 
He giveth His beloved sleep. 

Peace, troubled ocean of despair ! 
Be still, thou ever raging deep ! 
From life's brief day of pain and care. 
He giveth His beloved sleep. 

Over the cradle of her child, 
Love doth her sleepless vigil keep ; 
While life's dark storm beats loud and wild, 
He giveth His beloved sleep. 

Quenched is the fiame of mortal breath. 
Calm is the creature born to weep ; 
Oh peaceful rest, this is not death ! 
He giveth His beloved sleep. 



[493] 



THE END OF LIVING 

Could I but trace one star of hope 
On Heaven's high scroll, on Fear's cloud omen 
Through Faith and Reason's telescope, 
Life's darkened future to illumine; 

Could I but stamp one fadeless thought. 
On everything in God's creation ; 
Could I but teach one lesson taught. 
To kindle nobler aspiration ; 

Could I but write one living truth 
On human hearts to glow forever, 
The zeal of manhood, age and youth 
Inspiring with a new endeavor. 

I'd write in starry rays, I'd blend 

The one great hope that's worth the giving, — 

Dust unto dust is not the end. 

But life to life the end of living. 

Dust unto lower dust consigned. 
Life unto higher life ascending; 
The past — forever left behind. 
The future, vast — unending. 

Behold the crowds of earth pass by. 
One common groveling aim pursuing; 
To strive, to gain, to love, to die, 
One hour the plans of years undoing. 

Poisoning souls and intellects, 
That but immortal food can nourish. 
On thought's decay and love's frail wrecks. 
On hopes and aims that stand and perish. 

[494] 



What shall it profit us if we, 
Whose hopes and longings are immortal, 
Gather each fragile flower we see, 
To wither at the future's portal ? 

Did the great Source of Life intend, 
That death should end its noblest striving? 
No ; dust to dust is not the end. 
But life to life the end of living. 

The best success of time to make. 
Should be our lives' supreme endeavor; 
And teach these jarring chords to wake 
The prelude of the vast forever. 

Listen, oh myriads of mankind! 
The eternal anthem rolls before us; 
Soon will Time's prelude die behind. 
Drowned in the still increasing chorus. 

Height unto height the notes ascend, 
Glory to glory ever weaving; 
Dust unto dust is not the end. 
But life to life the end of living. 



[495] 



PANSY FACES 

Oh, the funny pansy faces, 

With their odd and wise grimaces, 

With their eyes so wide and staring, 

And their cunning, witching ways ! 
Oh, the pretty pansy faces. 
With their royal hues and graces, 
Peeping from their shady places, 

Through the spring and summer days ! 

Oh, the roguish pansy faces. 
And the thoughtful pansy faces, 
And the haughty pansy faces, 

What a mingled company ! 
Oh, the purple pansy faces, 
And the golden pansy faces, 
And the snowy pansy faces, 

What a mottled crowd are they ! 

How I love the pansy faces, 
Smiling from their shady places ; 
How I love each quaint expression. 

And each sprightly attitude ; 
Ever lively, glad and cheerful. 
Never gloomy, sad and fearful, 
With their merry little faces, 

Full of love and gratitude. 

Oh, the jolly pansy faces, 

Looking from their brimming vases, 

Or from out their shady places. 

Nodding to the butterflies ! 
Pansy faces shy and saucy. 
Pansy faces gay and glossy, 
Captivating every passer, 

By the magic of their eyes. 

[496] 



NO HOPE 
1885 

No hope? Yes, it is said there is no hope; 

O woman, with thy patient, pleading face,' 

Is there no hope beyond the tomb for thee? 

No hope beyond the coffin's cold embrace? 

No hope? Alas, the verdict must be true, 

And Death has set his seal upon thy brow; 

But is there no star left in thy dark sky, ' 

No promise in the future for thee now? 

Listen, the Christmas bells are ringing yet; 

Look, the dark sky is set with many a gem;' 

Read in their sweet and gentle ministry 

The story of the star of Bethlehem. 

Read of the cross and lonely sepulcher. 

Read of the glorious resurrection morn. 

Then listen while the silver bells repeat : 

"To you in Bethlehem a King is born;" 

Then ask with faltering breath : "Is there no hope 

No hope? To you immortal hope is given. 

The faithful star of Bethlehem still shines, 

To make thy hopeless grave a gate to Heaven. 



[497] 



ABUTILON BELLS 

Ring little bells from your leafy towers, 
Ring for the fairies, ring for the flowers. 

Ring for the sad and gay ; 
Never a sound from your belfry near, 
Borne on the frolicking breeze I hear. 

Yet I dream that a tiny fay 
Lightly leans from the stem of a leaf, 
And the chime of joy and the toll of grief, 

And danger's stirring knells, 
Are heard by the bright geraniums, 
By the heliotropes, daisies and cyclamens. 

From your little swinging bells. 

Ring little pink bells in the showers. 
Ring for the revelry of the flowers. 

In the growing time of Spring; 
For the fuchsias in their stately halls 
Are robed for the fairies' moonlight balls. 

Where the merriest crickets sing; 
And the pansies' dewy faces glow 
With the fresh young life in their roots below. 

And sipping their dew-drop wine, 
The butterfly is the sweet pea's guest, 
And the bumble-bee in his Sunday best 

Sits down with the rose to dine. 

Chime little golden bells your strain, 

For the primrose sweet in her fringed white train 

Is the bride of the tuberose tall ; 
The hyacinths stand by the tuberose's side. 
And the pink primroses wait by the bride. 

And the cactus lists your call ; 



[498 



And the lofty calla stands in state, 
At the nuptials gay, to officiate, 

And the march seolian swells. 
And the proud narcissus bows and bends. 
And all the hosts of the flowery friends 

Rejoice with the golden bells. 

Clang little red bells, lightly swung, 
Ring what larger bells have rung, 

Danger's swift alarm ; 
For old Jack Frost in his armor cold 
Is coming to-night with his armies bold, 

And he brings but death and harm. 
O loveliest, frailest, tenderest. 
You will he have though he spare the rest; 

List to the timely knell. 
Come in from the threatening, frosty air; 
Let the light of the coming morn declare. 

What the stricken cannot tell ! 

Toll little white bells, to and fro. 
Sadly and slow, softly and low. 

Clappers of purest gold; 
For the ghosts of dead blossoms are everywhere. 
The beautiful and sweet and fair. 

The icy shrouds enfold, 
Like a fragment bright of the vanished Spring 
Is the greenhouse warm, where your bright bells ring 

From your little leafy towers. 
Where safely kept from the frost and cold. 
Through the cheerless winter the buds unfold, 

Of the tender, tropical flowers. 



[499] 



THE LITTLE THINGS OF EARTH 

My heart grows often sad when I review 

At the going down of the sun, 
The greatness of all I have planned to do, 

And the little that I have done. 

The hours go on and the days go on, 

Though no idle hours condemn, 
'Till the years, the beautiful years, are gone. 

With so little to show for them. 

Day after day hath its common round. 

And the moments have swiftest wings ; 
Oh, what heights of ambition are lost and drowned 

In the oceans of little things ! 

The little drops, then the large waves. 

And at last the mighty flood; 
They make for the mountains, deep silent graves. 

In the depth's dark solitude. 

There's a little bird of Trust that sings 

That God will make all things right. 
And perhaps after all the little things 

Are the greatest in His sight. 



[500] 



LOST 

When the last sunset ray has faded from 

Life's troubled wave, 
And earth and sky and yearning sea are dumb, 

That once a solace gave ; 
When midnight darkness gathers very near 

Life's little shattered raft, 
And lips are chilled to silence with their fear. 

That in the light have laughed ; 
When a great wreck of wordly hopes and aims 
Looms up behind and we drift out alone 

No help to find. 
Then, then the sinking Soul will realize 
The need of a great God to hear its cries. 



EARTH'S SORROWS 

You, who call transient absence trial to you, 

Who count a Christian's death earth's deepest grief, 

Let me declare to you a heart's belief: 

That those are sorrows growing restful, sweet, 

With the advance of time ; 

But there are woes 

That wear and scar and rend the heart anew, 

Each day, or week, or month, or fleeting year, 

They look from eyes that shed no healing tear. 

They draw the patient lines 'round silent lips. 

And freeze warm blood from heart to finger tips ; 

O living sorrows ! Would that I could hush 

You all to sleep, and let the worn hearts rest, 

As peacefully as do the Christian dead. 

With all their sadness to the sun, 

Carved on cold stone and silence overhead. 



[501] 



THE BLUE DAISIES OF THE CRAGS 

Looking out on the restless sea, 
Gazing up to peaceful skies, 
Have they lent their sapphire hue to thee, 
To glow at dawn in thine opening eyes, 

Beautiful dweller on crag and cliff. 

Rooted firm in the rock's rude rift? 

Cold is the rock where thy rootlets cling, 
Washed by the high tide's briny spray. 
And the white gull sweeps with his flapping wing 
Thy fragile crown in his watch for prey. 
Hovering over with eager eyes, 
Searching the waves for his welcome prize. 

Come with me to my inland home. 
Blue-eyed child of the ocean, come; 
There the noise of the breakers' roar 
Shall disturb the peace of thy dreams no more, 

No narrow crevice shall be thy home; 

Beautiful child of the stern crags, come. 

I have torn thee loose from thy shallow hold, 
In another home shall thy buds unfold; 
No more shall the stern, grey boulder wear. 
On his grand, dark crown a gem so fair; 
Thy sapphire shall shine for another's pride. 
In a warmer clime than the chill seaside. 

Transplanted safe to a deeper soil. 
Far, far from the ocean's loud turmoil. 
Hast thou forgotten the cliffs so high. 
And the mingling azure of sea and sky. 

And the heavy fogs that thy thirst satisfied. 

Or the rocky crest where thy rootlets did hide? 

[502] 



But evermore in the perfect blue 

Of thy fragile petals' silken whorl, 

The deep blue waves that thou bidst adieu, 

Round a silvery boat of fancy curl ; 

And its glory sleeps in thy blossom heart. 
For a fragment bright of the waves thou art. 



MISTAKEN VALUES 

I read a life in a face, and guessed 

That there's little reward when we give our best 

I saw a soul that had counted small, 

Life's duty and love, and its glory — all ; 

And I said to myself, 'tis a strange disguise, 
When the faithful are foolish, the selfish wise : 
I looked to my soul, from values of earth. 
To learn what was truly of supreme worth. 

And I saw there cometh, not gratitude, 
Nor gold, nor fame, but a higher good. 
To unselfish lives ; that unselfishness 
By its very blessing, itself shall bless. 

The soul that would on itself exist 
Will wake to know it has something missed — 
Something without which it starves and shrinks, 
And feels its loss while of gain it thinks. 

Wait'st for heaven to reward thy worth? 
Soul, thou art richer to-day, on earth ; 
For selfish glory and gain are small. 
And duty and love and truth are all. 



503 



HAD I BUT WINGS LIKE THINE 

Had I but wings like thine, 

Free bird of flight, 
To scale the heights that only wings can reach, 
Or steer my passage o'er yon seas of light. 

Whose cloudy beach 
Is ever shifting like the sands of time! 

Had I but wings like thine 

To soar between 
Those airy deeps and lower deeps more real, 
Above the wrecks and ruins of the main. 

The joy to feel 
Of freedom on unfailing pinions mine ! 

Had I but wings like thine 

To visit lands 
Of ancient story and undimmed renown ; 
To roam and rest beside those glittering strands 

That ages crown 
With words and thoughts that lustrous gems outshine ! 

Had I but wings like thine ! 

In yonder skies, 
Thy graceful form becomes a speck to view; 
Had I but -wings like thine I would arise, 

A bird of passage too. 
To pass beyond this narrow prison line ! 

Had I but wings like thine ! 

'Tis vain to long; 
Ah ! rather let me feel those hidden wings, 
That to a higher, broader, flight belong; 
Be mine a heart that ever soars and sings 

Above the wrecks of wrong! 

[504] 



WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT ME? 

What shall it profit me to gain 

All that this world to man hath given, 

If I neglect to here obtain 

A passport through the gates of Heaven? 

The best success of life to make. 

Be this my one supreme endeavor, 

And bid Time's jarring chords awake 

The prelude of the vast forever. 

What shall it profit me to earn 

The meed of Fame, the applause of Nations? 

\Miat shall it profit me to learn 

The wisdom of God's vast creations, 

If Time with a remorseless sweep 

Shall blight the brightest hopes we cherish, 

If all, yea all, we long to keep 

With these dissolving temples perish? 

O God! what shall it profit me. 

Whose hopes and longings are immortal. 

To grasp each fading flower I see 

And leave them at the Future's portal. 

To sell my soul for worldly gain. 

To barter Hope for Pleasure's bubble. 

To buy with Peace eternal pain, 

And plunge my soul in endless trouble ! 



505] 



THE VEILED LAND 

There's a land that is veiled from our vision 
A land that is hid from our sight, 
From whose shadow no traveler returneth 
To tell us with joy where it lies. 

Though its curtain is rent for a moment, 
For the weary of earth to pass through, 
We catch but a gleam or a shadow 
Of the land that is veiled from our view. 

O Christians ! Our Hope's golden anchor. 
Secure from the storm and the gale, 
Is cast in the beautiful harbor 
That lieth beyond the dark veil. 

Unfurl the bright banner of promise. 
Safely through the mists we will sail ; 
For our High Priest who passed on before us 
Hath entered in through the dark veil. 



ALDER CREEK 

Will I ever forget you, O beautiful stream ? 
Wherever I wander sometimes I shall dream, 
A dream of cool waters that rippled and played 
Or lay still and restful in vistas of shade; 
A dream of old alder trees towering above, 
Green branches with sunshine and shade interwove, 
And lily-white ducks, as they fed from my hand. 
And childrott, who played at my feet in the sand. 
And leaves, that went floating away with the tide, 
As the days of our years oh so noiselessly glide ! 
Will they bear me from thee, is it only a dream. 
This life with its changes, O beautiful stream? 

[ 506 ] 



ROSEBUDS 

Silken sachets of perfume 
Swinging in the sunny breeze, 
Viands in the banquet room 
Of the butterflies and bees. 

Dainty ladies velvet gowned, 
Or in lustrous satin dressed; 
Fairy pictures thus abound 
Childish fancy might suggest. 

Oh, the poor unsightly thing, 
Dwarfed, distorted, early doomed 
Is the bud so promising 
That the dimpled fingers bloomed ! 

Dimpled fingers cannot wait 
Till the tempting bud expands; 
Sudden wonders they create. 
Naughty, willful, active hands. 

Folded petals pulled apart. 
Crimson satin backward pressed; 
Luckless blossom, what strange art 
Bloomed you long before the rest? 

With your petals bruised and torn, 
Only half your wonted size; 
Weary, sad, and so forlorn, 
What can your defects disguise? 

Like the children, "we'll be good," 
Patient, while God's purpose grows, 
He who formed the baby-bud 
Can alone perfect the rose. 

[507] 



BERRIES 

Berries ! berries ! beautiful berries ! 

Wearing a charm ever pleasing and new; 
Daintiest food, fit for elfins and fairies, 

Born of the sunshine, the breeze and the dew. 

Drooping in delicate sprays of repleteness ; 

Nestling in green leaves, half-hidden from sight ; 
Hanging in rich, juicy globules of sweetness; 

Peeping up shyly to drink in the light. 

Perched on a twig is a saucy, red linnet, 

Beak dyed with carmine, betraying his theft; 

While birds of all colors, each sunshiny minute 
Feast on the beauties his majesty left. 

Lazuli-finches and golden canaries, 

Hither and thither in ecstasy fly, 
Warbling in unison "Berries ! ripe berries !" 

What ruby wine with their nectar can vie? 

Laughing-eyed children, with lips dyed vermilion, 
And finger-tips stained, the sweet secret have guessed 

And honey-bees joining the merry cotillion, 
Meet with the birds at their lavish repast. 

Berries ! berries ! bright luscious berries ! 

Ripening and melting the long summer through ; 
No sheaf-laden Ceres such tempting spoil carries ; 

Born of the sunshine, the breeze and the dew. 



[508] 



MY PRAYER 

God, when I look back upon my life, 
And realize how many things are past, 
My soul cries out to Thee. 

Leave Thou not me 
Alone, while life shall last ! 

1 fear the future unless Thou shalt keep 

In Thy strong hands, in Thy great heart my fate 
For there is none beside 
Mighty and wise to guide 
Where dangers are so great. 

God, unto me prove Thy ceaseless love. 
Make Thou Thy promise known. 
Through danger's land 

Hold tight my trembling hand, 

1 cannot go alone ! 

Make straight these crooked paths. 
Bid light upon this dark night break, 
Inspire with trust 
This trembling heart of dust 
That Thou will not forsake. 



This life is but the prelude of the next, 
Whose endless melodies harmonious sweep 
In notes of triumph borne from height to height. 
And waves resounding on from deep to deep. 



[509] 



OUT OF THE DARKNESS 

Out of the dark, dark earth the hly blooms so white, 
The stars shine brightly through the dark, dark night; 
Thus from this dark, dark grief as from the sod 
May spring the fair creations of my God. 

O, can I wait ! Can I have faith to trust, 
Whose lilies lie forgotten in the dust. 
Whose stars have faded amid clouds and tears, 
'Till God shah write His rainbow on the years ? 

And yet as surely as His word is true. 
Sure as the lily breaks the cold earth through, 
Sure as the stars burst through the black cloud rift. 
Up through this dark, dark grief God's hand can lift. 

Some new creation not yet understood, 
But than my dreams more beautiful and good; 
High as the stars that dark, dark night have crowned, 
Pure as the lily from the dark, dark ground. 



[510 



THE HEAVENLY MANSIONS 

Eye hath not seen those glittering towers, 
Ear hath not heard those songs, 
But endless praise and fadeless flowers 
To that bright realm belong. 

There never a weary tear shall start 
Of pain or grief or care ; 
There is my treasure and my heart 
And all my hope is there. 

O mansion, grand, imposing pile 
Of masonry and art, 
Tower in thy pride a little while 
But prison not a heart! 

Let not earth's richest, happiest lot 
Life's higher aims assuage, 
And make the spirit treasure not 
Its nobler heritage. 



SUMMER 

Summer, O beautiful Summer ! 

Sunshine and sea-breeze, green earth and blue sky. 
Bees, buds and blossoms, tall ferns and low mosses 
Wreathing with beauty life's silent gray crosses. 
Summer, sweet Summer, I bid you good-bye. 

Shall I come back to you ever, oh ever? 
No, you are dead as the flowers I have pressed ; 
These like sweet memories of you I have carried, 
While in the past my sweet Summer is buried 
From the fair garlands that lay on her breast. 

[511] 



ONE AND ANOTHER 

One is searching in the highways 
For a budding life to blight, 
One is toiling in the byways 
For a soul that's lost in night, 
Pointing to the distant skyways 
Where God's stars are still in sight. 

One a country's law is making 
On a high and noble plan. 
While another one is breaking 
All the laws of right he can ; 
Bold, defying and forsaking 
The commands of God and man. 

One in battle wounds his brother. 

Leaves him bleeding on the field, 

Far from friends and home and mother, 

Mercy vainly hath appealed ; 

Yet with tenderest care another 

Binds his wounds till they are healed. 



[512] 



A FAREWELL 

Farewell, but oh, where'er you go, 
O'er rolling land or surging sea, 

Remember that the same blue sky 
As one roof covers you and me ! 

And when the morning sunbeams shine, 
Night's gloomy darkness to dispel, 

Think that the same bright beams are mine, 
And morn has dawned for me as well. 

And when the evening stars arise 
To set the skies' supernal blue. 

Look up and think while daylight dies 
That I am looking at them too. 

Farewell, but oh, where'er you go. 
O'er rolling land or surging sea, 

Remember that the same blue sky 
As one roof covers you and me ! 



A SONG OF JOY 

My heart is full of thankfulness. 

My soul o'erflows with song, 

My mind has caught some unknown notes 

That to the birds belong; 

I find no language for my tune. 

No utterance to my praise, 

Only a sweet forgetfulness, 

A breath of sunny days. 

ril fling my song away from earth. 

It can no language wear. 

My praise shall seek the angel choir 

And find an echo there. 

[513] 



ESTELLA 

Cliaptor 1 
(^Tho ha 11 room ") 

A miniiling- of soft colors and the sound 
Of footsteps echoing to a rapturous strain. 
The rustle of rich silken robes, the air 
Perfumed with flowers, awoke the notes again 
And bore them out upon the balmy breeze; 
The light of laughing eyes, of merry hearts. 
The gleam of jewels clasped in waving hair 
Spake but of Pleasure and of Beauty's rcigfn 
While flew the unmeasured moments unaware. 

To the gay revelers who thronged the hall 
Forgotten were the problems of the day. 
Care fled like darkness from the tapers' glance. 
Light, jest and laughter filled the thoughtless hours 
While light feet caught the spirit of the dance. 
And so the eve flew onward to the dawn. 

A group beneath a canopy of flowers 

Gathered around the ballroom's reigiiing belle. 

From her acknowledged throne she viewed her slaves 

And held them captive by a magic spell 

While her devotees worshiped at her shrine. 

Her brown eyes, pensive first and almost sad. 

Bright as gems or twinkling as the stars ; 

Her wand, a lily clasped in dimpled hands. 

Her hair fantastically ^^Teathed with flowers 

Seemed to have caught its lustre from the sun. 

Flattery fell like music on her ear; 

She spoke and many doubting hearts admired, 

She smiled upon the captives she would win ; 



514 



She conquered and each dim distrust expired 
And satisfied she held them in their chains, 
Held them, until tired of their servitude 
She snapped the subtle chains and turned aside 
To win some other heart on which her charms 
Had been before unwasted and untried 
And left them hopeless, ruined, in despair. 

Thus had she lived, success she boasted hers 

And loved the life of coquetry she led. 

And counted with exultant victory 

The hearts whose love for her had long been dead, 

Some in a real, some in a living grave. 

No pangs seemed ever to disturb her calm, 

Mercy was not to her a transient guest, 

Estella, ever gayest of the gay. 

With countless fascinating talents blest, 

Was said by many to possess no heart. 

She reigned a feared yet a resistless queen. 

No other dared with her rare charms compete; 

She caught her victim with a smile, a glance. 

She left him in the dust, low at her feet 

And mocked his frail endeavors to arise. 

Ah, fair Estella! Can that lovely smile 

Dimpling the cheek and pearly brow of youth, 

So like the innocence it should have been. 

Be but the masking of a dread untruth, 

A thing of base, despised hypocrisy? 

Can those fair words in cadence soft and sweet. 

Befitting to a soul exalted, high, 

Be but a garment by dark falsehood worn. 

Or but a covering of a hidden lie, 

A snare, a gilded cloak of vile deceit? 

'Tis hard to think yet it is even so. 

Thy bud of promise faded ere it bloomed, 



[51: 



Thy purity that might have been thy crown 
Is in the grave of selfishness entombed, 
Thy youth devoted at the shrine of pride ; 
We leave thee in thy thoughtless revelry, 
Surrounded by the glories of a day, 
Smiling and beautiful as any queen, 
Amid the alluring brightness of display, 
Gracefully joining in the giddy dance. 

Chapter II 
(After the dance) 

The lights had vanished from the deserted hall, 
The floral festoons wither where they hang. 
Unbroken silence reigns supremely where 
Before glad sounds and merry music rang. 
And overhead the moon looks coldly down. 
Unbroken save by the night-owl's hideous screech, 
And now and then a cart that rattles by, 
The houses stand like dense, unbroken clouds. 
In the pale light the moon and stars supply. 
And in the east the roseate peep of dawn. 

A sad, mysterious air pervades the place. 

The banquet hall when all the guests depart, 

Reminds one of a lonely sepulcher. 

Hiding within it a once joyous heart. 

And keeping silent vigil o'er the dead ; 

But where is now the ballroom's beauteous queen? 

She sits alone beside a glowing hearth. 

Not with the radiant smiles and sunny air, 

By which she shone wuthin the hall of Mirth, 

For none are near to praise her loveliness. 



[516 



Weary and petulant, she languidly 

Watches the smoldering embers, 'till at last 

The clock's shrill voice intrudes upon the muse, 

Reminding her that time is flying fast; 

And calling to the mystic land of dreams, 

The sunbeams struggle through the window blinds. 

And play for hours upon the chamber wall ; 

They strive to wake the dreamer from her sleep. 

But all in vain ; she does not heed their call. 

And so the morn wears onward to the noon. 

At last she wakens from a troubled dream, 

The day far spent ; a linnet in the oak 

That shades her room trills forth a joyous lay; 

The song no echo in her soul awoke, 

For Nature held no varied charms for her ; 

Sauntering out along the garden walk 

Sweet with the perfume of a thousand flowers, 

She does not realize how fair they are ; 

Her mind is busy in the by-gone hours. 

Rehearsing Fashion's fascinating toys. 

The sunbeams kiss the violets at her feet, 

The lilies tremble as she passes by. 

The daisies from their beds of living green 

Strain their bright eyes to view the clear blue sky, 

The divers feed with fleecy Summer clouds. 

She passes slowly on and comes at last 
To a cool Summer-house o'errun with vines, 
And sinks down on a sheltered rustic seat ; 
Over her head the fragrant jasamine twines. 
And sports its snowy blossoms in the breeze. 



[517 



But heeding not the beauty 'round her spread 
Turns to the novel in her idle hand, 
And soon is lost to all the world without, 
Roaming within some fancied fairyland, 
Mingling with heroines of charmed romance. 

The story done, she lays the book aside. 
And o'er her face falls an unpleasant cloud. 
As conning some deep problem in her mind, 
Unconsciously she speaks her thoughts aloud. 
Thoughts not unlike the cloud her features wear : 

"Shall I be baffled by a simple child. 

In this one conquest I have vowed to win? 

I shall have my way and gain my ends, 

I never fail in what I once begin ; 

Estella, shall yet be a rival there, 

He would avoid me, yes, 'tis well — 

He knows his weakness, but I know my power — 

She trusts him in her simple innocence. 

But she will live to hate and rue the hour 

When she presumed to wander in my way ; 

I will accomplish what I have begun. 

What beauty and what wit have failed to do. 

And they have very seldom failed before. 

Scheming and stratagem shall carry through ; 

Yes, I will try the merits of my plan." 

With a low laugh she rises from her seat. 

And leaves the garden wrapped in solitude; 

The birds have hushed their merry twitterings ; 

And o'er the flowers the twilight shadows brood ; 

The sun has said "good-night" and set behind the hills. 



[518] 



Chapter III 
(Lucia) 

All day the rain fell in a tedious drizzle, 

All day a dreary wind blew cold and chill, 

The very air seemed clouded with depression, 

Weighed down with doubts and murmurings until 

The glorious sun burst from behind a cloud, 

For a brief moment glancing on the raindrops. 

Setting the dripping roofs aglow with light. 

Making bright gems of every pearly crystal. 

Painting sweet Hope upon the clouds of night. 

In the bright bow that spanned the impending gloom 

Only a moment, then a cloud came over 

And hid the vision in its misty fold, 

Shutting the bright transforming gates of beauty. 

Leaving but raindrops for the gems of gold. 

Erasing the. great Artist's marvelous lines. 

Lucia stood watching the slow rain falling, 

Gazing with a sense of awe upon the change, 

Such a brief, unexpected transformation 

Wakened her mind to feelings new and strange; 

And then the transient inspiration vanished 

Almost before she realized its beauty. 

Almost before the fullness of its dawn ; 

She looked and lo, the clouds were touched with glory. 

She looked and lo, the shining bow was gone. 

And the dark clouds hung heavy as before ; 

But with it went her hopelessness and sadness, 

And the deep crushing weight of untold grief. 

Leaving instead a promise for the future; 

O Vision, thy existence was but brief, 

But thy sweet influence cannot be forgotten ! 



519 



She stood a moment with her eyes uplifted, 
Scanning the heavens for one last lingering sign, 
Or one last token of the wondrous promise 
Writ in the purest light of trust divine. 
And looked upon by eyes undimmed by sin ; 
Then sitting down, burst into bitter weeping, 
Shedding the tears that long refused to flow. 
But had been falling drop by drop unnoticed, 
A\^earing away with steady steps but slow 
The youth and gladness of her fresh young heart. 

A letter lay upon her open desk, 

A letter not yet sealed, a little ring 

Lay glittering by it in the shado\vy light; 

Why had the presence of that sable wing 

Left on this fair young head its withering blight? 

Alas ! the fairest, frailest barque must meet the storm ! 

At last she rises with a fresh resolve. 

Rises as one braced for a coming blast. 

Firm is the hand that seals a just decree, 

Calm is the soul whose victory is past, 

Who soars triumphant on the wing of Faith; 

The shades of night fall silently about her, 

O, do not wake her from her peaceful sleep ! 

O, do not wake sweet dreams to real trials ! 

O, do not wake the tearless eyes to weep ! 

Hush ! let no footfall break her calm repose ; 
What is this thing, this quiet rest from troubles, 
This sweet forgetfulness of tempests past. 
This blessed gift to soul, to mind, to body? 
O, do not break it, 'tis not long to last, 
Let the tired spirit slumber while it may ! 
Yes, it will if when the heart is burdened, 



[520] 



Consciousness wanders into sweet repose, 
For lost in sleep Nature finds strength and courage, 
And for a time the heart no anguish knows, 
^^'hile mind and soul regain their wasted strength. 

Yes, let her sleep, assured that she will waken 

Better prepared life's arduous tasks to meet, 

Better prepared to find in paths of duty 

True pearls of happiness strewn at her feet ; 

Poor tired child, thy idol was but clay ; 

May loving guardian angels 'round thee hover. 

And twine their sweetest garlands through thy dreams 

What though the morn beheld but heavy clouds. 

The starlight floods the night with holiest beams ; 

Surely at eventide it shall be light ! 

Chapter IV 
(Despair) 

Alone in the twilight with thoughts for companions. 
He walks to and fro like a sentinel guard; 
Once hopeful and handsome, but now every feature, 
With a settled despair, like a heavy cloud, marred : 

A hopelessness, pitiful in one so youthful. 

Seems taking possession of body and soul ; 

Xo music can lift the dark shroud from his spirit, 

Xo friend can the stone from its sepulcher roll. 

Shall he go to the one who has trusted him fully? 

But no, she can never believe him again ; 

Oh, why had he traded true worth for vain beauty, 

That brought at the last but its merited pain ! 



521] 



Deserted by her who has led him to ruin, 

And made of his honor a hideous lie, 

He sees now his unblinded madness and folly 

Standing out clear and plain when the dream has passed by, 

And wearily gropes for some light in the darkness, 
For some bow of promise the storm to abate, 
But not a gleam comes to scatter its blackness. 
And in low, husky whispers he murmurs: "Too late!" 

Too late ; oh. the darkest most horrible message 
That ever chilled hope in the heart of the brave, 
That ever hushed gladness to slumber forever. 
That ever doomed beauty to fade in the grave ! 

Is there hope for him yet? (He looks wildly about him.) 
No ; not on the land where his day-star has set. 
But perhaps on the ocean, the great surging ocean. 
Sweet Mercy may comfort and solace him yet. 

As the day dawn is breaking a strong iron-bound vessel 
Launches out from the harbor to traverse the deep, 
A calm, peaceful ocean lies tranquil before her, 
As if tempests and breakers had fallen asleep ; 

One passenger stands on the deck, pale and haggard, 
Gazing anxiously back to the receding shore, 
As if fearing to lose the last glimpse for a moment 
Of the hills that shall gladden his vision no more. 

No kerchief for him flutters trembling with feeling. 
No loving farewell falls like balm on his ear, 
But he stands like a statue surrounded by mourners, 
And moves not a muscle and sheds not a tear ; 



[522] 



But a bitterness deeper than tears or emotion 
Makes the dark eyes grow darker, the pale face more white, 
As the land of his fathers, the home of his childhood, 
Grows dim in the distance and fades from his sight. 

Farewell, noble ship, may the waves bear thee onward, 
'Till in some sunny harbor thy anchor is cast. 
And oh, mighty deep, may thy wonderful music. 
Bring mercy and peace to the erring at last ! 

Chapter V 
(The wreck) 

A storm fierce and sudden swept over the waters. 
The lightning's red gleam glanced afar on the wave, 
A mingling of voices in helpless appealing, 
A struggle in vain from a watery grave ; 

A man clings alone to a fragment of timber. 
His eye on the tempest, his thoughts far away. 
Traversing the past with its thousand green islands, 
And the mirage that beckoned his footsteps astray. 

The cold, chilling sea-spray all glistening and sparkling 
Falls damp on his brow, but it breaks not the chain 
That binds him to days that have vanished forever. 
And wakens the dream of his boyhood again. 

He thinks of the love that for him never faltered, 
'Till slighted by cruel untruth and neglect, 
And the heartless coquette whose unprincipled scheming 
Had the hope of two lives in an evil hour wrecked ; 



[523 



A bitter remorse for the past and the present 

Sweeps over his soul as he faces his doom, 

And with one last look upward, one low-breathed petition, 

He welcomes the breakers and owns them his tomb. 

As the eagles exultantly sweep o'er their victim, 
So the surges triumphantly hurl him from sight. 
And over the spot where a thousand had struggled. 
The waves in a transport of victory unite. 

Around their lone graves no sad mourners shall gather, 
To bring floral offerings glistening with tears, 
But the blue waves shall wreathe graceful anchors and crosses 
Of seaweed and coral to lay on their bier. 

No dirges shall echo through aisles and through arches, 
No gravestones for these shall stand lonely and grim ; 
But sleeping with those who sank long years before them, 
The surges shall chant their funeral hymn. 

We might weep for the weak could we catch for a moment 
A glimpse of the pearls in the sea's hidden crown, 
Where clasped to the heart of the faithless and friendless, 
A little gold band and a ringlet went down. 



[524] 



EASTER LILIES 

They grew where waters tumbled down 

In little falls and whirlings, 

A canyon, where wild maidenhair 

Grew thick, and little frog-choirs sung 

Their Easter melodies among 

The fern-fronds green uncurling; 

Oh, I can almost see the spot. 

So shaded, cool and stilly. 

Whence came the creamy delicate 

Sweet Easter wild star-lily ! 



Every day is a little life 
To live at our very best, 
Every night is a little death 
When the weary workers rest; 
If we make each day a small success 
The sum of our days cannot be less. 



Though scattered be my mortal dust 
By worm, or wind, or wave, 
Oh, priceless is the Christian trust ! 
My God shall mark my grave. 



[525 



SOMETIME IN HEAVEN 

Sometimes when the world grows old and stale, 

When our best seems only to try and fail, 

When we raise up to God the bitter cry, 

When we sit in the darkness and question "Why, 

Then comes an answer on Mercy's wings. 

To hover above all these vexing things, 

With its triumph of wrong and defeat of good, — 

"In Heaven earth shall be understood." 



With freshened thought and heart more light, 

To gain the mountain's rugged height. 

While joy the pulses thrill. 

To see no summit crowned above, 

To know, to realize, to love. 

The everlasting hills. 



My Soul's a harp 

Whose music never sleeps 

Through Summer's smiles, through Winter's wails and weeps. 

Upon its pulsing chords Life plays her strain 

Of gladness or of grief, of peace or pain ; 

My Soul's a harp, a golden harp to me, 

Prisoning Earth's sublimest melody. 



[526 



A QUESTION 

I might have died then, 

I, who was so near 

The shadowy entrance to the land of peace ; 

And oh, how much of sorrow would have swept 

In a deep river o'er me where I slept ; 

But no, someone prayed long and earnestly 

And a white angel stooped, 

Or God's hand reached, 

And drew me back from rest that men call — death. 

Yes, drew me back from rest to life's unrest. 

And could it have been best? 



Wake, Jubal, wake, thou father of song! 

Thy children mourn, for thy sleep hath been long 

Gather the notes from the vocal spheres, 

And sing, of the dead and the living years ; 

Send the first note from thine organ key 

To startle the centuries yet to be. 



Keep fresh the sweet legacies, love, music, beauty, 
The poetry twined with life's barren thorn-wreath, 
For hard and bereft were the pathway of duty 
With no sunshine above and no roses beneath. 



[527 



THE BLOOMED BUD 

Poor, distorted little rose 

Not yet ready to unclose, 

Who's to blame for all your woes? 

What impatient little sprite 

Wrought your ruin and your blight? 

Torn and rumpled, such a plight. 

Active fingers could not wait. 
Sunbeams were too slow and late, 
Strangest wonders they create. 



I saw a rosebud folded close 
Just waiting to expand. 
Each petal of the perfect rose 
Formed by an Artist hand 
Lay like a tiny satin scroll, 
Only a sunbeam could unroll. 



Faithful be the friends who love you, 
Rainbow hope your clouds dispel, 
Ever smile the sky above you. 
Daily gladness with you dwell. 



528 



WHERE TRUE WISDOM IS GAINED 

Not from the schools of learning, 
Not from the halls of pride, 
Not from the breeze returning 
Over the murmuring tide ; 

Not from the words of sages. 
Not from fair Beauty's shrine, 
Not from the stores of ages, 
But from a source divine. 

You may traverse the paths of knowledge, 
That millions before have trod. 
But if a man lack wisdom. 
Let him ask of God. 



My heart is like the butterfly, — 
One Summer to anticipate, 
One Summer full of glorious things 
Wherein to flutter happy wings — 
Then Winter and her fate. 



Lift up thine eyes unto the hills 
Whence all thy help must come. 
Thy path, so strewn with care and ills. 
Is but to lead thee Home. 



529] 



CHERRY TIME 

(In Santa Clara Valley) 

Merrily mounting ladder and limb, 
The cherry-picker swings his pail of tin, 
The chimney's purple spiral 
Curling through the morning mist, 
The wild rose-linnet's carol 
From the cherry orchard, list ! 
Ripple of laugh and repartee 
Vibrating gaily from tree to tree, 
Maidens in fresh-ironed calicoes 
Sit in the packing-house in rows. 
Merrily mounting ladder and limb. 
The cherry-picker swings his pail of tin. 



How often Virtue rears an humble stone, 
In shade of Vice's sculptured mausoleum ; 
The greatest heroes Truth has ever known. 
Error and Ignorance hastened to condemn. 



[530 



FORGET NOT GOD 

One prayer my heart would write in pearls, 
One wish in gold or jewels bright, 
And keep unmoved when life's mad whirls 
Can never hurl it from God's sight; 

And this my heart's best prayer would be : 
"My God, may I remember Thee!" 

The dizzy march of all things seen. 
The idle talk of all things heard. 
How high a wall they build between 
God's children and His living word ; 
'Till wake they oft to reap regret 
Among the Nations who forget. 



Goodness is the only greatness. 
Titled Infamy is small, 
Just as Truth's the only wisdom. 
Error nothing learned at all. 



[531] 



Whose is the hand so masterful that touched to life and being 
Such wondrous pictures everywhere that man is slow in 

seeing? 
Wherever human feet have trod 
Are beauteous paintings wrought of God 
In earth and air and ocean. 



A villain may be a lover, 

A fraud brief service lend. 

But it takes the worth of this tired old earth, 

To make a lasting friend. 



Up rugged steeps thy toilsome way must go. 

If thou wouldst heights of endless sunshine know. 



[532] 



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